Child of Sithis
by Lookathooves
Summary: Annabella Marie is perfectly sane. Just because she has an unhealthy obsession with the Dragonborn, enjoys murdering people, and relishes in stealing valuable artifacts... that doesn't make her insane. At least that's what her sweet Night Mother tells her. Temporary Hiatus.
1. Off to a Good Start

**Note:** Hope you like it! I do have a few warnings to place, though. If you're not into death or semi-descriptive gore (nothing _too_ extreme), then you may want to turn away now. But don't let it scare you away completely. There will be romance with a tad bit of humor thrown around. Reviews are love!

* * *

 **Child of Sithis**

* * *

Annabella Marie would have thought life in Skyrim would have been much more peaceful than Cyrodiil. She could not have been more wrong. As soon as she stepped over the border, all hell broke loose. That could almost be taken literally. The only thing she remembered was stepping over the border and seeing people clothed in blue armor carrying huge war hammers. All Nords, of course. Then the next thing the Breton knew, she was getting hit over the head with something very hard. The blow caused her to black out.

When she had awoken, she was in a moving wagon with three other people. One of the men, a Nord with hair the same color as hers, introduced himself as Ralof. He seemed nice enough, but she still couldn't find it in her to trust him. The second man, a Nord named Lokir, had been captured wrongly just as she had. He was, by no means, a saint, but he was certainly no blasted.. rebel? At least that's what she imagined them to be. Rebels. They were no bandits, nor were they murderers. They didn't look the type.

The third Nord had a gag thrust inside his maw, so he did not speak. The way he looked, though, it appeared he was of noble rank - certainly no commoner. When Ralof claimed he was Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king, she knew she was in trouble.

It was all one big political battle. The only semi-normal person who wasn't part of the political "debate" was Lokir. And even then, the man was an idiot getting himself killed because he ran away. Little did he know if he had just went along with the Imperials, he might have had a chance at survival. She did feel pity for him. Not because he had died, but because he was no doubt an utter failure as a thief. Annabella was no expert thief, but at least she knew when and how to steal things. The poor sod had stolen the horse in broad daylight from the Imperials themselves. His death, however, gave her a satisfaction. She couldn't help but chuckle when the arrow sunk through his back. An idiot dying an idiots death.

When they reached their destination at Helgen and they forced her, after much prodding, off the wagon she was 99.9% sure she was dead meat. Even if her hands weren't bound together, she had doubts she had enough strength to defeat all of the men and women surrounding her. She would have accepted her fate then and there if not for what happened next.

Dragons.

Bloody dragons.

That was the moment she asked herself why she crossed the border. Why did she leave her beautiful home in Anvil behind to come to the harsh; cold, snow coated mountainous hellish region called Skyrim? Oh, right. Because she got caught trying to steal the Arch-Mage's staff to sell so she could pay off a debt. She was quite sure she'd have been dead back then if not for her knowledge of conjuration. Of course that got her into more trouble seeing as how her Flame Atronach had pretty much burnt up the Arch-Mage's entire room and killed three guards in the process. Whoops? She never ran so fast in her life after that moment. She stole a horse - sneakily, she might add unlike poor Lokir laying dead, face first into the ground - and took off for Bruma where news hadn't gotten wind yet, "borrowed" a few supplies from some friendly folk, and headed to the closest place where they wouldn't dare follow. Skyrim.

And here she was. Horse probably dead somewhere - eaten by a dragon, no less - a throbbing headache from the harsh hit to the head earlier, three painful gashes on her lower cheek from where she was attacked by a hungry saber tooth moments before getting captured, and a bloody dragon flying overhead killing everyone and burning anything in sight.

After much running, fighting, and arguing, she finally made it out alive. She wasn't quite sure why she chose to leave with Hadvar instead of Ralof. Perhaps because Hadvar seemed genuinely concerned when he questioned why a Breton was in Skyrim and being thrown in with a bunch of Stormcloaks who were, primarily, all Nord.

Annabella was relieved when they finally escaped the place entirely, hoping to never see that dragon again. It was all smooth sailing from here once Hadvar said her slate was cleaned entirely once he reached Solitude. Hopefully she could live out a nice peaceful life here for a few years until her slate was once again cleaned in Cyrodiil.

It would be okay now. Everything would be okay.

* * *

"Eh. I don't really pay much attention to politics." Said the Breton as she nervously scratched the back of her head, her dirt smeared blonde locks getting tangled even more.

"Well if you ever change your mind, the Imperials could always use people like you." Hadvar waved her off as she nodded and slid out the door of his kind, but persistent uncle's home. She was faced with a refreshing surprise when she turned around.

"Is it true you seen a dragon? How big was it?" A girl no older than ten stood before her with a look of absolute wonder in her eyes. Annabella smiled at the child and stretched her arms as wide as she could.

"As big as a house! But a lot uglier." The girl laughed and asked a few more innocent questions before a boy and his dog took her away to play a game of tag.

She figured it was her time to leave anyway. She had already been asked by Alvor, Hadvar's uncle, to send word to Whiterun of the dragon's attack. Frankly, she didn't want to, but some part of her knew she couldn't betray these people. Sure they annoyed her for seeming to think she was some kind of hero, but honestly, they've done more for her than she deserved. They even gave her food and a bit of coin to get her started here.

Also, she had a soft spot for children and she couldn't bear to see any harm come to them. She had no choice but to warn the jarl of the dragon and question about how Whiterun was defenseless.

The Breton had no time for more talk and just as she was on her way out, she was stopped by a Nord. He gave no greeting to her, just a sour expression and an obvious need for help. "Faendal thinks he can woo Camilla Valerius away from me. She's already mine, I keep telling him."

"Excuse me?" She was thrown back for a moment.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do. You see my lovely Camilla-"

"Do I even know you?"

"W-well no, but I thought that maybe you could-"

"Uhm. I think you got the wrong girl for your job."

"I haven't even asked you anything, yet!" His yelling was unexpected. Obviously someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning.

"And that's why I'm saying no before you do. I don't have time to help some fool with his love life."

The foolish love struck Nord had left, mumbling and cursing under his breath, probably off to find some other poor sap to torment.

She couldn't help but to inwardly smirk as he appeared to be the one thrown back, now. Yet, her cool, relaxed posture tensed up when she heard Ralof's voice. While Ralof himself didn't mean any harm to her, she did murder several of his Stormcloak buddies on the way out of Helgen. That probably didn't boost any points in his book for her.

At the moment, Ralof didn't seem to really notice her presence as he was further away beside the water's edge talking to a much younger Nordic man around Annabella's own age. He must of escaped from Helgen, too. He looked to be quite as beaten up as she did. A woman was standing over Ralof with a man who appeared to be her husband judging by the way he kept placing his hand on her shoulder. Curiosity got the better of her and she sneaked a bit closer and hid behind an old, decaying stump.

"Nonsense. You and your friend are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Let me worry about the Imperials. Any friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine." Said the woman, crossing her arms as she looked the young Nordic man up and down. Her accent was very strong.

"Thanks, sister. I knew we could count on you." Annabella had to admit that Ralof had one of those smiles that made everything seem much warmer. In fact, he reminded her of her late twin brother. He had the warmest smile ever. Unlike Annabella, he was a very social person and everyone - literally everyone - liked him. He had so many women that desired to court him, Elven women, Argonians, and Imperials the like. It made no difference - they all loved him. He was the happiest person ever until the carriage he had boarded to the Imperial City was raided by bandits. That day was the worst day of her life, but oh how she relished when the blood of the bandits had been splattered unto the trees and turned that perfect green grass a coppery red hue. There were three in all. Two Imperial men and one Redguard woman. It was her first kill, yet she felt like it unleashed something within her. The desire to...

"I ought to get back to work before I'm missed, but... did anyone else escape? Did Ulfric..." Their chatter brought her from her thoughts as she looked up in alarm.

"Don't worry. I'm sure he made it out. It'll take more than a dragon to stop Ulfric Stormcloak."

"I'll let them into the house and, you know, show them where everything is..." The plump lumberjack spoke up.

"Hmph. Help them drink up our mead, you mean. Good luck, brother. I'll see you later."

"Don't worry about me. I know how to lay low."

With that, Ralof and the other Nordic man made to move in her exact direction. She began to panic and realized that her position wasn't all that subtle - hunched over and appearing to indeed be eavesdropping. She stood up and simply faced the other direction, hand moving to tug on the end of a strand of hair as she nervously tried to blend in. After the footsteps became no more, she turned around expecting them to be gone but instead came face-to-face with that mysterious Nordic man from Helgen.

His icy blue eyes locked onto her emerald green hues. For a moment, she thought about running and not looking back, but it appeared that he didn't see her as an enemy. At least not yet. He was much taller than her, at least by a head and a half, as to be expected, as Nords are known for being tall and Bretons were infamous for being short.

They didn't move from their spot in what seemed like hours. Their spell broke when the sound of growling was heard from behind her. She spun around and quickly conjured up her sword, ready to slice away at the pesky beast, but it was too late. The Nordic man used his blade to cut down the creature in one hit. Annabella glanced behind her and gave the man a cold glare.

"I-I could have handled that!" The Breton puffed her chest out in retaliation huffed almost like an owl trying to scare away a predator.

The man raised a brow at the Breton woman, appearing to be fascinated at how she reacted to him saving her from being mauled. He said not a word, only chuckled as he reached down for his discarded helm and placed it firmly onto his head, the iron horns making him look even more intimidating. He walked off, not once looking behind him at the stumped Breton.

Hmph. Rude. She thought as she gathered up her satchel she dropped once she heard the wolf. Speaking of the wolf.. she went ahead and tossed the corpse over her shoulder before heading out. She was sure she could skin the poor thing and sell his pelt to a merchant in Whiterun.

* * *

That guy was never going to accomplish as much as her. No way he would. It wasn't a competition, she knew, but it seemed like they were two sides of the same coin. For starters, he was a Nord and she was a Breton. The height differences was incredible. He obviously liked his heavy armor and swords that weighed as much as her while she preferred light armor and magic.. a battle-mage, if you will. Not heavy magic - just conjuration and a few spells to shed light in dark places. She tried destruction magic once and ended up burning up over half of the books in the Anvil mages guild. The mage instructing her, an Argonian named Kani-Ra, had advised her against destruction spells after that incident and pointed her in the direction of a Conjurer, an elder Breton man named Bannent. From him she learned how to cast her own bound bow and swords.

She had a clear advantage of already knowing magic, and doubted the simple Nordic man knew anything about it.

Nords and their lack of magic. Tsk.

Again, this wasn't a competition, but she had a feeling that this was not the last she would see of him. He looked to be on a mission just as much as herself, so crossing paths was imminent.

Shaking her head of her thoughts, she found herself halfway down the road and it dawned on her that she was going to stand in front of the jarl. Glancing down at her armor, she seen that she was still dressed in that horribly ragged ol' Imperial garments. That wouldn't do. Perhaps she could patch them up before getting to Whiterun. And perhaps she could find a secluded place to take a quick soak. Her hair was in one giant knot and she was pretty sure it was being held together by mud, dirt, and blood. Yeah, she was surely a sight for sore eyes.

With a few more steps down the road she found a place in the stream that was fairly secluded by the grassy areas. Stripping herself of her disgusting, partially burnt armor, she sunk into the cool stream. It was pretty chilly, but it was a relief after everything she'd been through that day. After she cleaned her hair of the grime and grease and her body of the dirt, she found time to close her eyes and relax for a moment.

"Oh, yes. This would sell for a lovely bag of coins."

Her eyes shot open when she heard the obvious male voice coming from behind her exposed frame. Peeking through the bushes, she seen a man rummaging through her things. A bandit probably thinking someone had abandoned their supplies to chase after a deer or something. She had no idea what was going through his mind. Had he even noticed her?

"Hey! What do you think your doing?" She hadn't even thought her current position through - armorless and vulnerable in her current state. The bandit whipped around and brought out his mace and would have smashed her skull in instantly if not for his shock at what he seen.

Men. Sex appeal has always been their weak point. Perhaps if she hadn't been in the nude, he would have killed her right then and there. It took a mere two seconds for her to conjure up her bow and shoot him through the side of the neck, wounding him horribly. She bent down and picked up her Imperial rags, holding them over the front of her frame as to not let anything show.

Smirking, she leaned over the man and conjured her sword, her bow disappearing instantly. There was a look of panic in his eyes as blood began to pour from his wordless maw.

"Tis a foolish thing to die from lust. You men are all the same. Weak and pathetic, always giving into your own desires." Her ever-sharpened sword slowly sliced all the way through his neck, his head rolling off to the side.

As usual with the Breton, she couldn't help but change her mood dramatically, smiling happily when she spotted the brown coin purse hanging from his belt. "Ohhhh. This'll buy me some new boots!"

She gleefully stood up, tossing the garments to the side and began to take off the Bandits fur armor he wore. Once the armor was fully removed, she took it to the stream to rinse it of the blood, but to her disappointment, wouldn't come out in mere water. Huffing, she tore the top completely up, discarding the fur collar that was drenched in coppery blood. It took her longer than she wanted to, but eventually got the armor to fit her small frame perfectly. She had only hoped the shops in Whiterun would sell armor to fit her better. For now, it would have to do.

Gathering up her things, she threw the bloodied garments into the river, along with her discarded Imperial Armor. With the man being a simple bandit, the guards who occasionally patrol wouldn't take mind to the dead body near the road. Besides, the area looked so deserted that she figured the bears would get to the corpse first anyway.

Annabella looked into the stream one last time to braid the front of her hair, letting the messy braid fall forward while most of her wavy locks stayed back - a bit more tame than usual. The only thing that threw her appearance off was those three huge gashes along the lower area of her cheek. Right before the Imperials found her, she was attacked by a Saber Tooth and took quite a bit of damage. She'd have been thankful when an Imperial arrow flew through the pesky cat's head, but the whole execution thing wasn't the most hospitable thing they could have done.

Shrugging her shoulders, she decided to carry on. Perhaps today just wasn't her day. First she gets attacked by a giant cat, then she was next in line to be executed after that mysterious Nordic man, then she had to run for her life to escape a dragon that seemed to come right out of a children's horror book, and now she was on her way to see the jarl of Whiterun - a city she knows absolutely nothing about - to warn them of the dragon attack, but of course don't forget how she was almost robbed on the way there by a bandit who was too stupid to realize she could conjure a weapon, naked or not.

She felt a small twinge of a headache make itself known and she reached up to rub her temples. Oh, boy. What a day. With any luck, she'll be treated like a hero in Whiterun like she had been in Riverwood. Maybe even get a title or something. Oh, that would be great. She needed as much recognition and coin as possible if she wanted to live here happily.

She'd find out soon enough.

* * *

"You were at Helgen?"

"Does this surprise you, my jarl?" Her words were dripping with sarcasm. Probably not the best thing to say, but she'd already said it, so what was the harm?

"Well you're the second person here today who has come from Riverwood with news about this dragon."

"The second?"

"Yes. A man came in just a moment ago and explained how he survived Helgen. He asked if we'd send troops to Riverwood." He paused and scratched his chin. "Do you know anything about this man? Who he is? Where did he come from?"

"N-no, sir. But may I ask why you're so curious as to know? And why didn't you just ask him, yourself?" She was taken aback with his interest in the Nordic man and how little interest he had in her. So much for being revered as a hero.

"The man stumps me, to be honest. He would reveal nothing about himself. I don't even know his name - 'told me it wasn't important. By the gods, it's important to know who a man is that has as much strength and will as him."

"Sir, I have a lot of strength. You should see my magic-"

"Ah, so a magic user, are you? My court wizard, Farengar may have some use for you."

"Really? Like taking care of some baddies outside the walls? Or maybe beating up some bandits? - I'm good at beating up bandits." She practically beamed at the jarl. He wanted to give her an assignment? From the court wizard, himself? Oh, she was overjoyed - perhaps a bit too much by the way Jarl Balgruuf shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"Uh. Yes. In that room off to the side; to your left when you leave. Talk to him and tell him what you can do. I'm sure he'll find something you can do."

"Thank you so much, Jarl Balgruuf. I'll do my best to help in any way I can." She was about to walk towards her destination when a guard swung a sword in front of her face. She'd have hit in straight on if he'd gotten it an inch closer. She glared at the guard before turning towards the jarl. "What's this?"

"Consider it a gift for also warning us about the dragon attack in Helgen. You were very brave to have made it out alive. I thank you, as well as Whiterun." The jarl gave the Breton a smile and she returned it happily. She wouldn't use the sword, but it was a kind gesture. A gesture that she could sell for gold.

She turned on her heel and walked into the room he had mentioned. Standing over the Enchanting table was the court wizard himself. The Breton stood next to his desk and picked up a soul gem from atop it. She was admiring the color of it and how it shone next to the firelight when he turned around and gave her an annoyed glare.

"What in Mara's name are you doing?"

"Oh. Nothing. I was just looking and admiring it. They really are quite beautiful, aren't they?"

"Yes, I suppose they are." He brought his hand up to rub along his chin, staring. Not at the gem, but at the Breton in front of him. "Who are you?"

The question came as a surprise to her, but a pleasant one. "I'm just an traveler looking for a spot to make my home."

"No, no. Don't give me any of that generic nonsense. Tell me your name, where you're from, your fighting style." He seemed genuinely interested, though now she wasn't so sure it was a good thing. She couldn't see lying to him, though. He was the first person who actually wanted to know her name.

"My name is Annabella Marie. My family is well-known in High Rock. Or, at least, they were until my ancestors had to move to Cyrodiil and became increasingly poor due to the struggling economy at the time. One of my more prominent ancestors was Antoinetta Marie. She was on the streets one day, but just vanished the next. Never heard from again according to the rumors of my ancestors. It's one of the mysteries about my family. But I have so many more interesting stories about my family like when my grandfather took part in the Arena in the Imperial Ci-" The Breton paused and looked at the wizard. So many people have told her in the past to shut up. To stop talking so much. But this man looked genuinely interested.

"I-I'm not talking too much, am I?"

"No, of course not. I'm quite interested in history and learning about the oddities among families and people." He shook his head and crossed his arms. "But there will be time enough for that later. I want to know more about you. Not your family."

"Alright. Well like I said, my name is Annabella Marie. My homeland is High Rock, but I've lived in Cyrodiil for most of my life, as have all my family members before me. My home was Anvil for many years and I made quite the name for myself until.. a recent incident with the mages guild caused me to flee to Skyrim."

"Now you have me curious. What did you do to make you move to Skyrim?"

"Ehh. I'd rather not say, to be honest." The Breton shrugged slightly.

"Fine, fine. It's understandable. Best to leave the past behind us. If you don't mind me asking one more question, what type of magic do you specialize in?"

"Oh, um. Conjuration. I learned from one of the best mages in Anvil to conjure my own weapons."

"Ah. Excellent, excellent. You know, you've got the aptitude, you should join the Mage's College in Winterhold. They would make use of your skills, no doubt."

"I have heard many stories about it. Most Nords shun magic, I've noted. I doubt I'll find many there, so I'm curious as to who I'd come across." The idea was pretty fascinating. In the Imperial City, there were many different races living among each other with racism hardly a thing. Here, all she'd seen are Nords, Nords, Nords.. oh, and more Nords. Though to be fair, she had seen Imperials, Redguards, and that Dunmer Lady that was standing next to the jarl. But overall, the racism in this part of Tamriel was quite prominent.

"Anyway. I assume the jarl sent you here for a reason?"

"He did. He figured you might have some work for me? I'm up for anything. I can do pretty much any type of work you can think of." The Breton smiled. This man knew who she was, what she was capable of, and how much she was dedicated. She just told him all about herself after all.

"Well I have some frost salts I need delivered to Arcadia."

"Ohhh. Does she live in a cave somewhere? Or in a high part of the mountains? Maybe in a city far away? I'd be happy to deliver them."

"Uh. No. She owns Arcadia's Cauldron down in the Plains District of Whiterun. I just haven't found the time to go down and deliver them myself. Dragon duties and all."

The smile slowly faded into a grim expression. A frown, if you will. After all that hype, all she was going to do was be a delivery girl? She would have been a courier if that was the case, but she didn't want to be a courier, so why was she doing the duties that a courier does? Her left eye began to twitch as he handed her the bag containing the frost salts. She put on the most pleasant smile she could muster and nodded.

"Was there anything else you needed done? You said you were researching dragons. Do you need any help?"

"Actually, I do. But I've already gotten someone to fetch something from Bleak Falls Barrow for me - the man who was here earlier with the news from Helgen. Can you believe he seen a dragon with his own eyes? Anyway, it's a dangerous Barrow. I wouldn't want anyone inexperienced to get hurt."

That.. that bastard! He beat her here and he's getting all the fame, gold, and quests that she'd been aching to get her hands on. She was being beaten by him.. and it shamed her to no end. How funny that even though they haven't crossed paths again, he still dominated her in everything. Sighing to herself, she found no need to argue, nor pursue any other conversation with this man. She waved him good bye and made her way out of the building.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to sell this? You said you got this from the Jarl.. it would be a shame to just sell something that was given to you." The Breton merchant was really pushy about the subject and it bothered her to no end.

"Look. If I didn't want to sell it, I wouldn't be standing here right now. I have no use for it and it would just slow me down. I know it's worth something, so could you hand the gold over and take this hunk of steel off my hands?" Her brows were furrowed as she tapped her fingers impatiently on the counter.

"Alright, alright. Calm down." He picked the sword up and examined the blade and hilt before looking at the woman. "How does 150 sound?"

"How does my fist in your face sound? It's worth at least 200."

"Maybe we can come to a different agreement. How about 175?"

"How about 250 then?"

"I don't know. I don't think it's worth that mu-"

"Then I'll be taking this to the lady blacksmith down the road. I'm sure she'll give me 250 for it, if not more." She picked the sword up off the counter and made to the door.

"W-wait!" Belethor was running his hands through his hair, obviously pondering it. "I'll go ahead and give you the 250 gold."

"For the trouble you gave me, I'd say you owe me 275."

"W-what? No... no. I won't do it. It's 250 or nothing."

Annabella smiled and swung the sword slightly back and forth. "Well if you're sure.. I'm sure that blacksmith wou-"

"Alright! Fine. Take your damn gold." He scowled as he threw a coin purse on the counter containing the 275 gold. She placed the sword on the counter in front of him and tilted her head in thanks.

"You were so kind to me, that you can expect my business at least once a week. I'll be sure to bring some items of value for you to bargain with. Thank you so much, kind fellow Breton."

The poor man was fuming when she opened the door to the chilly air of Whiterun. That felt good. Really good. She grinned as she looked down at her brand new leather boots she had conveniently switched for her old Imperial ones while he was busy studying the sword. She still had her "people" skills. The bag of gold attached to her belt was enough to solidify her belief.

But back to the assignment at hand.

As much as she hated the idea of Farengar giving the dangerous quest to someone that she currently loathed, she couldn't bring herself to skip out on giving Arcadia her frost salts. Besides, she might give her some sort of reward - surely.

Entering her shop, she was quite amazed. There was ingredients strewn about everywhere as well as an alchemy station in the corner. It made her wish she had gotten into alchemy when she was younger. She had no idea how to make potions and always had to settle with buying them or "borrowing" them.

"You'll find tonics, salves, poultices and potions on my shelves. Browse to your heart's content." Annabella was startled out of her daydream when the Imperial woman spoke up. She smiled and walked up to the counter.

"I have a deliver from Farengar for you. Some Frost Salts?"

Ah, splendid, splendid. It's for a special brew I'm working on. A love elixir like none other. Maybe I'll test it on Farengar first... Oh, but I suppose you expect some compensation. Um... here, these potions should suffice."

She quickly gave her three random potions, one to heal minor cuts and bruises, another to regenerate her much need magicka, and one to cure any sort of rash she may obtain. Annabella made to speak - thank her even, but the Imperial woman was already darting over to the Alchemy station looking over her ingredients and mumbling to herself. Taking her obvious distraction as an opportunity, she placed a couple more potions into her satchel before leaving the small shop.

It would have been a good idea to go back to the Cloud District and speak to Farengar again, but she had the feeling she wasn't really needed, nor wanted. Maybe she could swing by the inn and see if there was any new gossip or errands that needed done.

* * *

The Bannered Mare smelt of strong mead and looked about as lively as it could possibly be. A bard singing a tune by the fire with a couple of men dancing quite comically while swinging full mugs of mead, a few people sitting on the stools talking to one another, and the innkeeper laughing and talking to a Redguard woman as she swept the floor behind the counter.

"Come on in, my dear. Just let me know if you need anything. The name's Hulda." The Breton smiled at the Nordic woman and went to sit on the stool in front of the bar.

"I do. What's on the menu?"

"Hungry, tired, or just plain thirsty?"

"Thirsty. Do you have anything that will quench my thirst?"

"Ah. You must be new around here if you're not familiar with the menu." She turned to the young Redguard woman. "Saadia. Get this lass a bottle of Honningbrew Mead. I believe that'll be our last bottle. In a couple days I'll have you make a run, fetch some more."

"Certainly, mum."

As Saadia went into the kitchens, Annabella leaned her weight onto the counter and let out a sigh.

"Long day, dear?"

"Ah. Quite the opposite, I'm afraid. I've been looking for work all day, but I just can't seem to find anyone willing to give it to me."

"If it's work you need, how about chopping up some wood for the fires? There are always people looking to buy firewood, including myself."

"While I appreciate the idea, I'm afraid that's not the type of work I'm working for. You see, I fancy myself to be a decent magic-user and I'd love to put my skills to good use." Saadia set an open bottle of Honningbrew Mead in front of the Breton and she immediately took to taking a small sip. It was sweet and very delicious - something she hasn't tasted since living in Anvil.

"Oh, dear. Magic is for the weak. Elves, I mean. They keep to that College in Winterhold. They know their place. Of course there is Farengar. He might be the Jarl's wizard, but at least he's a Nord. I guess you could go there and see if they have use for you."

That was the thing about Bretons. They're, simply put, a mutt. Long ago the elves intermingled with the human races and thus her race was born. It was almost a slap in the face. Picking up her bottle of mead, she shook it around a bit, took another sip, then cleared her throat while trying to avoid the awkward turn of the conversation. These Nords were too proud and stubborn.

"I have history with the Mages Guild in Cyrodiil, so I'd rather not even get involved." Not yet, anyway. She wanted to practice her magic a bit more before burning down their library and arch-mages quarters as well. "Is there any gossip?"

"I haven't heard much lately. The only thing that's really stirring everyone up at the moment is that little Arentino boy in Windhelm."

"Arentino boy? What's he done?"

"Rumor has it that's he's been trying to contact the Dark Brotherhood."

"The Dark Brotherhood? Whatever for?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, my dear. You'd have to ask around for more details. Or you could go see him, yourself if you're really looking for an.. an adventure. If you could call it that."

A young boy attempting to contact the Dark Brotherhood, hm? The Breton bit her lip as she pondered going to Windhelm or not. She hadn't anything else better to do, and he was a child in need. What if the Dark Brotherhood had a contract for him since word had clearly gotten around about him wanting someone to get an unfortunate end? Would they kill him as well as the person he wants murdered? The thought made the Breton quite anxious to help him.

"Hulda?"

"What do you need, lass?"

"Do you have some supplies I could buy? I'm heading to Windhelm."


	2. Jesters and Murders

**Note:** If you're not into reading death and murder, then this chapter isn't for you. It's not too graphic. Just a bit of bloody elements. Then again, this entire story is going to be full of bloody elements. Either way, I hope you enjoy. I apologize if this chapter is too short, but time was short today and I wanted to update it. Let me know if Cicero is written out well! To be honest, it was kind of a challenge for me.

Also. Lucien won't be in the story for a couple more chapters. So for now, enjoy Cicero and his wacky dances.

* * *

 **Child of Sithis**

* * *

Annabella had just left Whiterun and felt so incredibly confident, but then she remembered she wasn't familiar with Skyrim. Where was Windhelm? Where was Riften? Where was that College of Winterhold she heard so much about? She could have gone back and asked the guards, but that would take too long and, frankly, she was quite lazy at the moment and didn't wish to repeat her steps. Perhaps she'd find someone on the way further down the road who would assist her need of directions.

And there was her guardian angel right there. Well perhaps a man dressed in a jester suit wasn't a true guardian angel, but he'd have to do. He looked friendly enough.. but wait. Was he having troubles? Maybe she shouldn't even bother herself asking.. probably just head back an-

"Agh! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here! Stuck! My mother, my poor mother. Unmoving. At rest, but too still!"

 _Shit._ She'd feel too bad leaving him stuck out here. But he was already looking at her with puppy-dog eyes that she.. she couldn't do it.

"Did you need me to help you with your wagon, sir?"

"Sir? Ohohohoho. It's been a long time since someone was so formal with Cicero." He stared the Breton down for only a moment, unmoving, but it felt like hours. He made her slightly uncomfortable.

"Um. Okay. Well. Just let me have a look at-"

"No, no, no! Go to the farm - the Loreius Farm. Just over there, off the road. Talk to Loreius. He has tools! He can help me! But he won't! He refuses!" He reached out and grabbed her pale hands, patting them softly. "Wouldn't want the pretty lady doing work like that all by herself, now would we?"

She pulled her hand back, glaring at the Imperial and growling under her breath. "I'm not sure.. I really have to get going now that I think about it. You see, I'm going to-"

"Cicero will pay you with gleamy, shiny coin!" That was all it took.

"Done. But you have to promise me one thing."

"What would the kindly Breton ask of Cicero?"

"Don't ever interrupt me again. You've done that two times already."

The jester let out the most obnoxious laugh she'd ever heard and decided right then and there that she'd dig a hole and plant her head in it if he continued on for too long.

"Oh, miss Breton! I will try my best. Now go. Ask Loreius. He needs to..." The wheel on the other side of the wagon made the most horrible noise before popping right off the hinge, almost as if it was screaming from the weight of the large box. No wonder the other wagon wheel popped off. "Damnedest wagon wheel!"

She didn't know why she cared so much about this jester's poor mother, but she felt something tugging her towards the large box as it began to slide off of the wagon. In her haste, she almost knocked Cicero down to reach the wagon, her entire weight pressed up against the box to keep it from falling. Just as she was about to be crushed under the weight of it, she felt strong arms grabbing her waist and setting her safely on the ground.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" Ah. A guard.

"I am, sir." She looked at the box that was now being held up by Cicero. How he had mustered up the strength to hold something that weighed at least three times as herself, she had no idea. It was impressive really. That impressiveness was short lived when he spoke.

"Oh! Kind guard would help Cicero, would he not? Could he go get Loreius while the kind lady recovers from her wounds?"

Wounds? She looked down to see her hands were indeed bloody and quite raw from sliding her hands quickly across the boarded up coffin. She hadn't paid any mind to it when it happened, but now that she noticed it, she couldn't help but feel the burning sensation. Better yet, she had just ran her hand across her face and when she licked her lips, she tasted blood on the tip of her tongue. Her face must have looked horrid.

"You've been accused of a crime against the laws of this land. What say you in your defense?" Panic bubbled up in Annabella as she thought of the incidents she caused back home in Cyrodiil. Surely they didn't hire someone to go looking for her all the way up here in Skyrim. No, no, no. But then she thought about that old mage that she'd betrayed by attempting to steal his staff. He was no spring chicken, but he had many, many friends that he could hire and send after her. Without hesitation, she spoke up with the squeakiest voice she'd ever heard.

"Please don't make me go back to Cyrodiil! I swear I didn't mean to kill those guards. It's not my fault they got in the way!" She spoke over the jester, not so much as even a little bit curious as to what he was about to say. She looked up from her pathetic sitting position on the ground and into the eyes of the dumbstruck guard.

"Wait, _what_? What have _you_ done?" He shook his head and mumbled something about not getting paid enough. "Tell me what you have done right now, Breton, else I'll haul you into the dungeons and beat it out of you, myself. I'm in no mood to fool around with rebels, thieves, and murderers. Talos knows we've had enough of those lately."

"Well now you're just yelling at me and being very rude." The Breton remained in her seated position, her hands still freshly bleeding while poor Cicero was still holding up the large box on his own, the guard focusing his attention on her with the jester no doubt listening in on the curious conversation.

"Rude? You just freely admitted to me that you killed three guards back in Cyrodiil. While their laws slightly differ from ours, you still committed a crime in front of the gods and must be judged accordingly."

"And if I refuse?"

"Dead or alive, ma'am. Dead or alive."

"Well how about you go fu-"

"Guard! What are you doing? I said the fool is the one that needs arrested. Not this woman. Unless she's an accomplice then feel free." A man who must have been Loreius stood behind her frame, his arms crossed with a frown on his face that looked permanent.

"Let me do my job, Loreius. This woman just admitted to murder. That's a serious crime, if you weren't aware."

"M-murder? By the gods, we've seen enough of that lately. Please don't let them near my wife. I'll let you.. get back to your business."

The Breton looked back at the farmer and let out the most annoying sigh. "Loreius!" He looked down at the injured Breton, holding a look of frustration and.. fear?

"You.. you look awful." He must have been speaking of her bloodied face.

"Excuse me? Is everyone in Skyrim this straight-forward?" She pushed her hair back and made to stand up, but the guard was swift in taking out his war-hammer and aiming it in her direction. Even worse, her bloodied hands had gotten in her hair and she silently cursed under her breath. Now she'd have to find another stream to bathe in.

"Make one move and there will be nothing left of you to bury."

"Tsk. Cranky, much?" She leaned back as far away from the insulting weapons as physically possible. "Now. As I was saying before I was, once again, so rudely interrupted. This man, Cicero, hasn't done a thing wrong. He's just transporting his mother. What's so bad about that? Is it because he's happy and wearing a motley? Because if that's the reason, that's pretty damn pathetic. Maybe you're just too cranky and lazy to help out a man in need. Am I right?" She glanced back at the guard.

"And you. I made a mistake speaking up about my criminal past. It was awhile ago and you shouldn't arrest me for something I'd done in Cyrodiil and I see no reason to arrest this man here." Cicero was very silent.. and it unnerved her. He was jolly and laughing just moments before the guard and the farmer turned their attentions to her. "If you need to arrest anyone right now, arrest Loreius for making up some lie about Cicero. That's the only one who deserves to be arrested, sir."

"You killed three guards. That's enough reason for me to arrest you. And no doubt this fool here is a Skooma dealer. Probably got Skooma for months holed up in that big box of his."

"Mm. Doubtful seeing as how Skooma doesn't weigh that much and since you haven't even bothered helping him with that box of his. Instead you leave him standing there pathetically trying to hold it up by himself. You're no guard. You're a phony out for the money, no matter how you get it." The Breton kicked his weapon in the air and quickly conjured up her bow, shooting the guard right in the knee.

It was a pleasant, unexpected turn and Cicero, whom she had forgotten about momentarily in her rage, began laughing hysterically. She wanted to tell him to shut up, but she _was_ on his side in all this, so she held back her outburst.

"N-no! Stay away from me and my wife! Just leave us alone!" The cowardly farmer began to run back in the direction of his farm - getting his wife, no doubt. She wouldn't have cared much about it, but he knew her face - knew what she looked like. She couldn't afford to be arrested in Skyrim. She could always travel to High Rock, yes, but that was much too far away from here and she didn't fancy making that journey when it could be prevented by either a death or a threat.

She stood up, turned around, aimed her bow, but.. it was too late. Cicero had managed to prop the coffin's box against the wagon and was, at the moment, repeatedly stabbing the man in the face until he was unrecognizable. The sight was rather morbid, but in a way she was happy he was dead and no longer a threat. Made her job less stressful. The guard, however...

"P-please-!. I won't arrest you! Just... stay back... please." The guard fell back on his bottom and held his knee up while failing to remove the arrow two times in a row.

"Maybe if you'd have just listened to me, I wouldn't have to hurt you." She took pleasure in the amount of pain he was currently going through and happily bent down to rip the arrow from his knee. He let out a cry of pain as Cicero came over to kneel beside the man, his dagger at the ready. Annabella reached out and touched Cicero on the shoulder, and from there he winced and held his dagger down at his side. Apparently he wasn't accustomed to being touched much.

"Miss Breton! We should kill him. No witnesses, right? Wouldn't want him to arrest poor Cicero or his new friend." He wasn't acting like he was just moments ago when he was dancing and laughing and carrying about like a lunatic. Now he was acting.. almost sane. Well as sane as you can be when you want to murder someone.

"No." She looked at the guard who was holding his knee and sobbing uncontrollably. "I'll let you live, but on one condition."

"Oh, gods above. Anything! - I'll do anything! Please don't hurt me anymore." The way he pleaded made her sick to her stomach. She hated whiners. She supposed that was a universal thing. Every country, every city; everywhere she went there were whiners. Complainers. People who claimed they were brave until faced with an uncertain, but quite possible death.

"The man Loreius. I seen a female Altmer over on the porch right before you threatened to arrest me. His wife, no doubt. I want you to blame his murder on her. Say whatever you want. Tell the jarl she went crazy if need be and lock her away. Whatever you do, don't speak a word of what really happened, or I swear by the gods, I'll find you and murder you myself."

The Breton stood up and expected him to rush off in a hurry, but scowled when he didn't.

"What's the wait? Go!"

"W-well. My knee, ma'am. It-it's sti-i-ll bleeding and I don't think I can walk." It was as if the realization finally dawned on her that her plan had a huge flawed gap in it.

"Oh."

Cicero lurched forward, dagger in hand, and Annabella was sure he was going to slice his throat open, but was surprised when he had sliced off a piece of fabric from the soft woolen armor the guard wore and _carefully_ wrapped it around his injured knee. Once it was firmly in place, he looked up to the Breton.

"Cicero bandaged his knee, so he should be fine if only someone could provide a small healing spell." He reverted back to his goofy antics and laughed right after he poked her in the belly with a gloved hand. "That would be you, miss! Ahahaha."

"You really want me to perform a spell on him? I'm not that adept at healing spells. I'm a novice at best. I remember one time where I accidentally caused the wound to bleed more than actually heal it. I don't think tha-"

"Please just give me that horse to ride back on. That would be believable! Just don't make me suffer anymore. I can't stand the pain." He let out another whimper as he held onto his knee.

"Not a chance. That's the only horse Cicero has, clearly. And he needs one to pull the wagon." She thought about it for a moment, but shook the idea out of her head. "No. I'll heal you. It's the best chance we have."

"Ohohoho. I hope the witchy Breton doesn't make him bath in a pool of his own blood. It would be dreadful, but so fun to watch!" That laugh again. Sometimes it gave her chills. Other times it made her think about burying her head underground. And the way he called her a Witch. While she was no witch, it did seem fitting seeing as how she was incredibly destructive and did more awful things than good. Still. She deemed herself to be a battle-mage and that was that.

"Oh, shut up." She told the wailing guard as she pulled his knee towards her. She thought long and hard on the spell, remembered it slightly and guessing the rest of it. All she could do was hope for the best.

Using all the energy she could muster, she transferred part of said energy into the wound to attempt to revive it. A bright light shone between the guards knee and her hands as it found it's way into the wound and began to cleanse it. When she was finished, she took a single scoot back and found.. it to be almost perfectly healed. Just a semi-part of his bruise was sticking out from the top of the bandage.

She couldn't hold back her excitement and stood up, laughing merrily. "I-I did it! I didn't screw it up again!" She looked back at the two men on the ground, Cicero examining the wound carefully and the guard looking relived, but ready to pass out.

Everything was working out great. Though she knew nothing ever worked out _perfectly_. In the near distance she seen a group of Imperial men walking towards them on the road - not unusual seeing as how roads are used to travel on, clearly. But she _did_ freak out a bit when they got close enough to see the blood on the unrecognizable body. They sprinted at this point, swords drawn.

"You there! Citizens! Guard. What happened here?" He was tall for an Imperial; almost the same size as a Nord with a voice ten times more stern.

"Ohhhh! Imperials will help poor Cicero. Cicero is Imperial, after all." He dramatically pointed to his wagon and placed a gloved hand upon his forehead. "Oh, it was just awful! Cicero was minding his own business and then this crazy elf lady comes out of that farmhouse and attacked me! Knocked me right off the wagon and the jolt made my wheel pop off."

Annabella placed her hand on her chin and closed her eyes. All she knew was that he'd had better make his story damn believable.

"And then her husband came out to try and stop her, but oh no! He couldn't best her. She grabbed my dagger and started stabbing him in the face. Stab, stab, stab, stab, stab!" He made stabbing motions with his hands as he wailed on. "Breton lady was walking towards here, much like you did, and seen what was happening and tried to stop her, but no! It was too late for poor Loreius! And her face - the poor Breton's face! Smeared in her own blood from trying to hold up my poor mother's coffin to keep from getting damaged."

The Imperials, seeming to actually believe the fool's ramblings, asked him what had happened next.

"Oh, it was tragic! She tried stopping her and the elf lady aimed right for the little Breton, but she moved and struck the guard, instead! Right in the knee! I don't know if it'll ever be healed properly." Cicero sniffed and looked at the guard with a look of pure bullshitted sympathy. "All I was trying to do was take my poor mother to her new crypt. And look at what happened! HORRIBLE. TRAGIC. DEVASTATION!"

One of the men looked at Annabella. "Is what he says true?"

"Every word. The Altmer woman ran back into her farmhouse. I would have went after her, but I felt so bad about the guard that I had to try and heal him before his wound got infected." She gave a small smile in the guards direction.

"Guard. Is what she says true? If so, we'll report it to the jarl at once. He needs to be informed, as well as the rest of the guards."

The guard peered up at Annabella and Cicero who were both, at the moment, looking down at him, backs facing the guards, with smiles on their faces that looked to be something out of a nightmare as warning if he dared to cross them. "Y-yes. Of course. That Altmer needs to be arrested immediately. Do you boys think you can help me?"

The Imperials nodded and after much talk, shouting, screams, and cries, the woman was finally dragged out of her home to see the sight of her husband laying on the ground, brutally murdered with the dagger _she_ was being accused of holding. The woman was dragged away by two Imperials and the bruised guard while the remaining Imperials helped her and Cicero repair the wagon.

When they finally departed and all that was left was her, Cicero, and the dead body of Loreius, whom the guards were coming back for, it turned into a very hospitable conversation.

"Cicero would love, love, LOVE to thank the kind Breton lady for all of her help. Now me and mother can finally go home!" The Breton shrugged her shoulders and commented on how it was no trouble at all as he danced around the wagon.

"The whole reason I came to you, though, was to ask if you had directions to Windhelm. Probably not since you look like you just came into Skyrim, as well." She looked down at the body near their feet. "I doubt he'll talk much on the subject. He's just dying to keep silent on the matter." Annabella had to smile at her own pun, but Cicero beat her to it, smiling so wide she was sure he was a hyena in disguise.

"Miss Breton is from Cyrodiil too, hm? Do tell me which part you're from. I just came from there, myself!"

"Anvil. It's been my home for years, but after a certain.. incident that you probably overheard, I can't go back. Not to Cyrodiil for at least ten years. I want to make sure my record is clean." She paused and looked at the jester. His clothing was very unusual for Skyrim. Sure she'd seen jesters in Cyrodiil and heard of them in High Rock, but it was still quite off for someone to be so happy in a land so cold, frigid, and full of people with rocks for brains. "Where are you from, Cicero?"

She leaned against the horse and ran her fingers through his mane, watching how he flipped his head back and forth. She loved horses and wish she had taken better care of the one she'd "borrowed" near the border.

"Cicero is from Cheydinhal, dear Breton. It's so very, very lovely there! Have you been?"

"A couple times, yes. It's a very peaceful town. Nothing ever really happened there, though. Was a little too boring for my taste. But it would have been a great town to raise a family in, I'm sure."

"Ahaha. Yes. Too boring. Especially after.. the incident." Cicero's eyes got dark for a moment before tapping the wagon wheel with his boot and chuckling. "But maybe dear Breton would like to hear of Cicero later when we may cross paths again. I just hope our paths aren't.. deadly!"

She let out a slight laugh, not sure if it was a good idea to meet up with this jester again. He didn't seem exactly stable... but then again, was she stable? No.. not really. In the midst of her thoughts, she was smacked in the head with a piece of paper.

"W-what..?"

"Pretty lady must have been lost in her thoughts. Here is a map I "borrowed" from someone on the road earlier. I already got directions for where I'm going, but little Breton might need it. I feel like she needs it more than me and mother do! Ahaha." He patted the box containing his mothers remains and hopped up onto his wagon, but not before handing her 200 gold in a pouch, which she happily took.

After exchanging their thanks and farewells, she began to walk down the road, but was met with a horrible screech. "MISS BRETON LADY."

"YES? WHAT DO YOU NEED?" She looked back at the fool in the wagon who was riding it, well.. backwards at the moment. She followed suit and began slowly walking backwards.

"WHAT IS THE KIND BRETON'S NAME?"

"Oh... ANNABELLA!"

"MISS ANNABELLA! IT WAS A PLEASURE TO SEE YOU. AHAHAHA." And with that, the jester turned back around and began his lonely journey, as she hers. She flipped open her map and let out a huge sigh. Boy, what a day this has been. She looked up into the sky to see the stars starting to come out. It was gonna be a long trip.

She wrinkled her nose at the thought and felt the now dried blood on her face. She'd forgotten about that... perhaps another bath was in order.


	3. We Know

**Note:** Sorry for the delay, friends. I had computer issues, but thankfully, all is taken care of now and I'm posting this from my brand new PC. Not much else to say other than, no. I'm not going by the exact story-lines from the game. But I think you knew that already. Enjoy! And remember - reviews are love!

* * *

 **Child of Sithis**

* * *

By the time she got to Windhelm, she was shivering and her legs ached from such a long walk. Her fur armor didn't last long, ripping in multiple places making it look like she had been mauled by a bear; just without the injuries. She knew the first thing on her agenda once she entered the city was to find a Blacksmith to buy armor from. She had enough septims from the Breton merchant back in Whiterun and figured it'd be too obvious stealing armor. Perhaps if she stole at night, but it was early morning and she wasn't waiting around that long to get into some warmer clothes.

Speaking of warmer clothes.. she had never been this cold in her life. The only exception was when a fellow mage from the guild back in Anvil had accidentally froze a portion of her arm, but she had walked right in front of the poor Altmer, so she wasn't really one to point fingers at. But Skyrim.. at least up north it felt like she was living inside of a chunk of ice, forever frozen and keeping her cold as sin.

She was still shivering by the time she reached the gates, the guards opening up for her. Normally they questioned why you wanted to enter the city everywhere she went, but surprisingly they didn't this time. Did she really look that pathetic that they felt the need to just let her in? Boy, she really did need some warmer clothes.

Once inside, she let out a sigh of immense relief. It was only a matter of time now before she was warm and perhaps inside an inn drinking something warm before starting her search. Only one thing had stopped her from being entirely too relieved. And they were standing right in her way.

"Hey, maybe the reason these gray-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"

"Imperial spies? You can't be serious!"

"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We got ways of finding out what you really are."

The dark elf sighed as the two Nords walked away. The Breton wasn't sure about what was going on, but it didn't sound too good. Were they threatening that woman?

"Do you hate the dark elves? Are you here to bully us and tell us to leave?" She turned to the shivering Breton with a curious look. An unexpected question coming from someone whom she hadn't even been properly introduced to.

"What? No. Why would I hate your people?" The question threw her for a loop.

"You've come to the wrong city, then. Windhelm's a haven of prejudice and narrow thinking, unworthy of one such as you." She paused before continuing. "You're not from Skyrim, are you?"

"No. I'm from Cyrodiil. It's only been a couple days since I crossed the border."

"Explains why you're shivering. I would offer you something warmer to wear, but I'm afraid I haven't a thing for you. We Dark Elves aren't as wealthy as the Nords. At least in Skyrim. Perhaps the blacksmith on the other side of the city could help you."

The Breton smiled at the kind woman and nodded. "Yes, that's what I'm hoping for. I haven't been able to buy anything since my journey from Whiterun. I guess I hadn't realized how cold it actually was here in Skyrim."

She nervously reached up and scratched the back of her partially frozen hair. Ever since she took that _increasingly_ cold bath in the stream earlier before she entered Windhelm, she found her wet hair sort of.. froze. But it was to be expected. She could never give off good first impressions. She always looked like a dirty mess whenever she walked into a city. Cyrodiil wasn't as bad for her, but Skyrim, ohhhh, Skyrim. She hadn't had this much bad luck in ages.

The Dunmer gave her a look of understanding and gently touched her shoulder. "You seem too innocent for your own good, dear." She glanced at some nearby Nords wearing Stormcloak armor and she shifted her eyes and lowered her voice. "You're a Breton, aren't you?"

"Yes. I was actually looking to move to High Rock someday in hopes to-" The Dunmer placed her hand over the blonde's mouth to stop her chattered and shook her head slightly.

"Never speak of it here, or at least not that loudly. Not in this prejudice-filled city. I know how they treat elves, but Bretons? You share the blood of Elves, but not many come here, so I can't exactly compare. I know anyone who isn't a Nord is up to their prejudice game, but if you pretend you're an Imperial or even a short, stunted Nord, I'm sure they'd leave you be. And also..." The woman ruffled up the young Breton's hair and placed a few locks over her ears, whose tips were only slightly pointed. "Keep those covered up and you'll be good to go."

Annabella smiled and wanted to hug the dark skinned elf, but held back. She had enough on her plate, so being warned about the dangers of being anything than Nord here was a big help. Though it also made her quite sad to think about how she'd be treated if she'd willingly told everyone she met that she was a Breton. "Thank you, miss. May I ask your name?"

"Suvaris Atheron. I'm of very little importance in this city, as you might have just seen. But it's always nice to meet a friendly face." She paused and looked the Breton over once again. "And your name, dear?"

"Annabella Marie."

"What brings you to this _fine_ city, Miss Marie?"

"Uh. Just passing through, really. I don't mean to change the subject, but why exactly do they dislike your.. your kind in this city?" She never understood racism much and felt it was below her to say hateful things because of the way you look, so it intrigued her as to why this woman who she hadn't met before and treated her ever-so kindly would be on the other end of being poked fun at.

Suvaris put a hand on her shivering shoulder and began to lead her down a nearby ally - the opposite way the Nords had went. Annabella didn't question and instead followed and was surprised to see how much more relaxed the woman was once she got further into the darker alley as she spoke of the struggles in the city and how Ulfric had _assisted_ the Dunmer. Honestly, it still surprised her how everything was horribly different in Skyrim than in Cyrodiil.

"I don't have a good enough income to purchase you clothes, as I've already said, but I can at least buy you a drink. Come. Ambarys is a little extreme and tends to open his maw before he speaks, but his drinks are good - he owns an inn near home."

The Breton nodded, appreciative of the stranger's kindness. She just hoped it wasn't a big hoax and she was secretly a cannibal of sorts and had planned to cook her over an open fire in the basement. But that was the kind of chances you took trusting people.

The district that Ulfric had deemed the "Gray Quarter" was quite cozy. actually. It had an inn, several homes, and even it's own shop. She took note that there were no other Nords down here, just Dunmer. Despite the complaints of living here from her new friend, she thought it seemed fairly homey. But perhaps it was her tired, worn-out mind speaking.

Her tiredness seemed to truly get to her as she tuned out most of what the woman was speaking of. She only hoped she'd receive a good welcome at this inn and perhaps she could fork over enough septims to get some rest. She still had armor to buy, after all.

* * *

The grumpy innkeeper gave Annabella the most hateful look when she walked in behind Suvaris. She would have said something sarcastic or counter with a look of her own, but she was too tired to bother with it. Plus she needed this man to be agreeable towards her since she needed his services.

"What kind of filth are you dragging into my inn today, Suvaris?" The man threw a dishrag onto the counter and crossed his arms as he looked the newcomer up and down like fresh meat. Perhaps he really did intend to eat her. The idea made her mind go fuzzy and she laughed slightly as the Dunmer woman retaliated and huffed out a response.

"You idiot. She's a Breton. She needs food and a warm drink." The dark elf looked over at the giggling woman and rubbed her temples. "It seems that she needs a good rest, as well."

The expression on the innkeeper softened significantly, but his eyes still held a hard, cold look.

"A Breton? We rarely see any of you in here. Your people are smart to stay away from Windhelm."

"She witnessed those two dim-witted Nords that fancy tormenting us, harassing me right in the middle of the street moments ago. She could have taken their side in this petty feud, but she chose to come here, instead."

"Angrenor and Rolff again? Those bastards don't know when to quit.."

"Seems like they make a sport of it just about everyday, now."

The innkeeper set a plate of bread and cheese on the counter and stood a little too stiff on the far side of the room. "Y-you're welcome to eat as much as you like. For being so kind to us." He huffed it out as the Breton smiled and took a seat near the bar. "But don't make a habit of it! There's no free pass to food any time and any day you want."

"Do I really look that pathetic right now?" She inquired as she smiled big before popping a small chunk of cheddar cheese into her hungry maw. The cheese was wonderful - a bit too sharp for her liking, but good nonetheless. "I'm Annabella, by the way."

"What?"

"Annabella. That's my name. Did you not clean out your ears? Surely you're not that hard of hearing." She popped another cheese chunk into her maw before tearing off a piece of bread.

"Ambarys Rendar. Let me know if you need anything. I need to get this place clean.." He mumbled as he grabbed the dishrag and walked away from the two women.

It seemed like ten minutes before Suvaris spoke. Annabella had almost forgotten she was sitting next to her on the bar-stool. "So what are you _really_ doing here?"

"I already told you. I'm just passing through and needed some supplies and rest." She spoke through the bread in her mouth. It probably wasn't a pleasant sight, but the bread was too good to put down for even a second.

"Don't lie to me, dear. When you first came into this city, you had a look of determination on your face. What could you possibly be lookin-" Her voice cut off as another Dunmer man, who must have been employed here at the inn, placed two warm mugs of Honningbrew Mead in front of the two women. Suvaris dug through her coin purse and produced a few septims, placing them on the table in front of the man.

But Annabella wasn't entirely too money hungry. Once the man turned to leave, she dug through her own coin purse that she'd stolen earlier and placed her share of the septims onto the table and pushed it towards the Dunmer woman.

"I wouldn't take from a friend. You've been too kind, but please let me purchase my own items. I don't want you to have less because of me." She took a small sip of her Mead as the Dunmer smiled and drank from her own.

* * *

They spent what seemed like hours talking and laughing and drinking. Suvaris didn't bring the subject up again over why she was actually here - or did she? She couldn't remember much of anything. In fact, the only way she knew what had happened was when she woke up. There was a note stuck to her face - it felt sticky. And smelt strongly of mead. The tavern was dark and she was all alone, indicating that it must have been in the late hours of the night. How long had she been passed out?

Thankfully someone had been kind enough to place a pillow under her head at the bar. As well as the note. She should have figured it would happen once she drank mead. She had a quirk about her, as in once she got sleepy, she acted rather goofy. Drunken sleepy is what her brother had called it - he always poked fun at her for it. But all in good nature, unlike the Nords with the Dunmer. Adding mead to the mix made everything intensify - she was not good with those sort of beverages.

She stretched and stood from her place at the bar, walking over to the only lit candle in the room and, after pealing the note from her sticky cheek, scanned over it's contents curiously.

 _You're so fun when you're drunk._  
 _Ambarys, me, and a few local elves came by and you kept us quite entertained._  
 _I've never heard stories as great as yours - burning down the Arch-Mage's room with a Flame Atronach? Unbelievable! The stories you make up when you're drunk are too good for this world. I'm surprised you're not an entertainer of sorts. You could make even the grumpiest man happy. Which you did. Ambarys couldn't stop laughing._  
 _You're welcome to visit here whenever you want, assuming that you're staying in Skyrim. I have work in the morning, so I could not stay long. It's been awhile since I've had such a good time._  
 _Before I leave this note and retire for the night, the Aretino residence is just up the road above the grey quarter. You should have told me sooner and I'd have taken you there myself._  
 _For now, farewell. May we meet again, my new friend._

 _Suvaris._

 _"Well shit."_

She made a mental note right then and there to refuse mead while in Skyrim. But thankfully she got her answers she needed and thankfully she made a new friend and thankfully Suvaris and the others thought the burning of the Arch-Mage's quarters was just a made up story. With hope, word won't get around that it actually happened.

Annabella left a few septims on the counter as a tip and walked out into the darkened quarter and towards the directions Suvaris gave her to the Aretino Residence. The house wasn't lit up at all and she pondered whether she should knock or go right in. She didn't want to disrupt the family, but if the boy had problems, then maybe she could help him. Lockpicking it was then. Thankfully she still had some lockpicks stored in her pocket that she picked up during the dragon attack at Helgen.

After a couple of tries, she finally got into the house, but instead of being met with a cozy, warm interior, she was faced with chairs knocked over, spilled wine soaking into the decorative rugs, and the worst smell anyone could imagine; like a decaying animal being left in the warm sun. She began to walk further into the home, but stepped on a crumpled up piece of paper and curiosity got the better of her.

 _Master Aventus Aretino,_

 _Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak wishes to express his deepest sympathies at the death of your mother, Naalia._

 _Unfortunately, because you are fatherless, and have no other known relations, the jarl cannot allow you to remain in your home unsupervised. Therefore, in no more than a week's time, you are to report to Honorhall Orphanage in Riften, where you will reside until your sixteenth birthday._

"Please... How long must I do this? I keep praying, Night Mother. Why won't you answer me?"

The whimpering of a child brought her out of her concentration and she tossed the note back onto the floor as if it had never been touched. She sneaked around the corner and was met with a boy no older than eleven, hunched over a skeleton body which was next to what looked like a human heart and a chunk of flesh. Surrounding him was a circle of dimly lit candles and a book which looked very much read through.

In situations like this, one must remain calm. One must act like a responsible human being. One must not question the boy or frighten him. Simply take him back to his orphanage. One must-

"What are you doing?" Welp. That pep talk worked out well.

The boy turned around with the brightest smile on his face. "You came!"

"Excuse me?"

"It worked! I knew you'd come, I just knew it! I did the Black Sacrament, over and over. With the body and the... the things. And then you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood."

"Whoa, there. I'm not an assassin. I'm just a traveler. I came to see if you were alright."

"You're not an assassin?"

"Nope."

"So you've never killed anybody?"

"... no."

"I can tell you're lying. You don't have to lie to me. I mean, I promise I won't tell anyone you're an assassin."

"But I'm not-"

"It's okay, really! I'll wait right here. You can go kill Grelod for us."

"Us? There are more of you?"

The boy's face darkened. "My mother, she... she died. I... I'm all alone now. So they sent me to that terrible orphanage in Riften. Honorhall. The headmistress is an evil, cruel woman. They call her Grelod the Kind. But she's not kind. She's terrible. To all of us. So I ran away, and came home. And performed the Black Sacrament. Now you're here! And you can kill Grelod the Kind!"

Grelod the _Kind_? Ironic. "So you're all alone now? You have nobody at all that you can go live with?"

"My mother never got better. One night she fell asleep and never woke up. I have no other family to go to. Unless, of course, you'd like to adopt me. You could train me to be an assassin! Then I could help other kids just like me." He took a step towards the Breton and she backed up, but only a couple steps.

"I'm not good with raising kids. I also-"

"It's not unusual for other races to adopt children out of their own people. Nords and Bretons look almost exactly the same... well except for the height. I'm sure I'll be a lot taller than you in a few years."

"Look. Kid. I know you want a home. But I don't have a home to give you. I'm a traveler. I stay at inns and look for work on the road. I have no family either. My last of kin was killed a few years back by bandits."

The boy looked down at his feet and she could almost see the disappointment in his actions. She wasn't an assassin and she wasn't a mother. She could not help this kid in the ways he had expected her to. A home with her - a stranger. Oh, how desperate this poor kid must have been. Crossing her arms, she looked to the ceiling, praying silently in her mind that all will be forgiven for what she was about to do. Not that she hadn't done worse on the road earlier with the guards, but she tried to put that in the back of her insane mind.

"Where is this orphanage again?"

It was unexpected when the boy ran towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist, giving her the tightest hug she'd ever had anyone give her before.

* * *

There was a carriage! And she traveled all the way from Whiterun to Windhelm on foot! It seemed like the only person who bothered to let her know about these means of transportation here were Aventus. He seemed like a nice kid - especially when she mentioned killing the old hag in her sleep. He even gave her some armor that was stored in the basement of his home when she mentioned leaving in the morning so she could buy some proper clothes. The studded armor fit her frame perfectly, which was a surprise given how most armor here was built for Nords, not people her height.

She figured his eagerness to give her armor had something to do with wanting her to hurry up and kill Grelod. She couldn't blame him, really. If she was as bad as he said she was, it was completely understandable.

Once she arrived in Riften, she felt more at home. It reminded her somewhat of her home back in Cyrodiil - Anvil. Lovely little city beside a body of water - great fishing area. The people seemed interesting enough, as well.

She figured she'd look around a bit before doing her dark deed. It's not like Grelod was going anywhere too fast at her age - plus if she happened to kill over from age, it would be one less thing on her to-do list. So she took her time and looked around at all the different stands and checked out the inn and the local blacksmith shop where she asked the owner a few questions about the town.

Turns out the town was over-run with thieves all grouped together in a guild that was holed up in a network of tunnels called the Ratway. She learned that the authority of Maven Blackbriar was not to be questioned and that she pretty much ran the city.

It made her realize that Anvil and Riften really were alike. Home away from home. Except there were much less pirates here than in Anvil, thankfully. Pirates always were the sort of people she got bad vibes from. Especially drunk pirates, which she had encountered on several occasions back home in Anvil.

After waving the blacksmith off, she ran directly into a tall Nordic man with flaming red hair. She looked up at the towering figure of the man and would have taken a tumble had he not wrapped his hands around her waist to prevent her painful fall.

"Whoa, there lass. That would have been a nasty fall." He chuckled as she composed herself and regained her balance.

"I'm so sorry! I should have been watching where I was going." She turned on her heel to leave - she'd been hanging around for much too long and didn't want anyone catching onto her. She was foolish and realized that she should probably hang low - at least until her job is done.

"Are you from around here?" _... damn it, Annabella._ She turned her body back around and gave him the fakest smile she could muster.

"No! But I'm pressed for time at the moment. I'm here to deliver some.. uh.. flowers to the orphanage." _IDIOT!_

"Flowers? Well for starters, you're going the wrong way. The orphanage is," He took a couple steps towards her and pointed on the other side of the bridge. "right there, lass."

"O-oh. Thank you. I'll be on my way, now."

"Now hold up. I'm curious. Where are these flowers you're supposed to be delivering? I doubt they're going to fit in that little coin purse of yours. Unless you're keeping them stored in a more lewd place."

Her face turned as red as a flame atronach as she whirled around once more to face the man. Back home in Cyrodiil, people told her that she could be very menacing when she wanted to be. However, when faced with a Nordic man who was three heads taller than she, it looked rather comical - similar to that of a mouse trying to confront a cat ten times it's size.

So instead of an apology or a fearsome approach, all she got was a rough, merry laugh as the man held his stomach to keep from going overboard.

"What is so funny! Do you normally go around insulting the first woman who crosses your path? Is that what you do?" After his laughter died down, he looked at her with a playful, yet at the same time, serious expression.

"I know you didn't do an honorable days work for anything that you currently have. No need to lie to me about what you're doing here. I wouldn't have suspected anything had you lied a bit better."

Lying was something Annabella did a lot. Did she lie well? Sometimes. But most of the time, she blanked out and said something incredibly stupid. Like what she'd just said. Delivering flowers to the orphanage? Stupid lie.

"I don't admit to being a great liar. But it's truly none of your business what I'm doing here, nor is it any of your business to know how I've obtained my septims."

"Look. You seem like a nice gal. So I'm going to let you in on something." He leaned forward to whisper in the Breton's ear. "Not everything here is what it seems. Do me a favor and you can get access to a guild that will put all the septims you want in your greedy little hands." He straightened up and swiped an invisible speck off his sleeve. "Deal?"

"Well I don't like turning down septims. Will it be quick? I wasn't lying when I said I had something to deliver here."

"Deliver what?"

"... flower seeds."

"We need to work on your lying."

"Shut up. Tell me what I need to do."

"I'm going to cause a distraction. While I'm distracting everyone, I want you to steal a ring from Madesi - that Argonian merchant over there. Then I want you to put the ring in Brand-Shei's pocket - the Dunmer near him."

"Ah, so we're framing someone. I'm sure I can pull it off." She'd never framed anyone before. She normally stole for herself - not to punish someone.

"Well let's hope you're a better thief than you are a liar."

"Let's just get it done and over with."

It was quite easy for Annabella to get it done while he rambled on about some magical elixir. Course she did have a problem earlier when Brand-Shei shoo'd her away like she was a fly, but thankfully that's all he thought she was near his pocket - a fly. She was quite happy to see the look on the face of her partner when he looked in her direction after she placed the ring in Brand-Shei's pocket, giving him the thumbs up and a head nod. When the crowd left, he handed her a bag filled with 100 septims, which she happily took.

"Why, sir, it was lovely doing business with you."

"We're not over yet. I can't stay, and I know you can't either. Next time you're in town, meet up with my in the Ratway, just below Riften - you can't miss the entrance. If you can make it through, you're in. Ask for Brynjolf." He gave the Breton a wink and walked off, but not before giving her a pat on the head. He reminded her a lot of her brother, which also made her a tad bit melancholy.

But wait. Why was she feeling like this again? She needed to stop her conflicting emotions, else people may begin calling her the Mad God, Sheogorath, himself.

* * *

It took forever for the old hag to fall asleep. She'd been waiting outside the window of the orphanage for at least three hours. Night had come and she assumed it would be a swift kill, but no. Nothing was ever easy or simple for her. Everything had to come with complications. Maybe her luck was just really bad.

Her time outside the open window did give her time to reflect on everything Aventus had told her.. it seemed to be true, sadly. The woman constantly screamed at these poor children and never let them get their hopes up. Even worse - she seen a sign on the door saying that they were not up for adoption. The nerve of some people.. isn't that what her job is? To give children happy homes?

Once the hag was asleep, Annabella lifted the hatch on the partially open window, which was a novice mistake for rotten people. If you're an utter asshole, don't leave windows open near you, else you're simply asking for someone to come in and kill you. Which is what she did.

It was swift and quick, her conjured arrow going straight into her throat, not a sound coming out of her mouth, even when she opened her eyes wide from a mixture of fright, shock, and pain. She said nothing - her death quick, but certainly not painless. She left when she was sure the bleeding woman was dead. She took a glance out into the main room of the orphanage and was pleased to see the children were all still fast asleep.

Pulling the blanket over the hags blood coated face, she swiftly left the building, casually strolling out the gates and into the night. Thankfully the carriage was there, so she got a ride back to Windhelm where she spoke to the Aretino boy again, only to get another hug, a happy cry, and a family heirloom plate that he refused to let her leave without.

Currently worn-out and completely tired, she planned on making her return to Whiterun in the morning to see if that dumb wizard had something else that he needed done. With luck, that stupid Nord at Helgen was dead now. Perhaps he died getting that Dragon Stone or whatever it was for the wizard.

Though she didn't know why she was so bitter towards him. It was something she didn't care to understand. She also didn't care to understand why the courier had delivered a letter to her with the imprint of a blackened hand and the words " **We Know** " written below. If someone was trying to blackmail her, they'd have to try a lot harder than that.

For the night, she decided to drop by the New Gnisis Cornerclub, where she was once more welcomed by her friend Ambarys. After drinking some cider - not mead since last time she had a horrible outburst issue - she paid for a room and headed off to bed. It wasn't the softest bed in the world, but it was a bed nonetheless. Soon it would be morning and she'd be more than prepared to journey back to Whiterun. She might not have earned anything for killing Grelod - except maybe a future bounty, but it was worth it to see the look on the boy's face.

Smiling, she drifted off to sleep, despite hearing a voice in her head - a voice that belonged to a man. A voice that was oddly comforting.

 _You sleep rather soundly for a murderer._


	4. A New Family

**Note:** Trying to flesh out the characters here, so if there is a lot of talking, I'm sorry! Bear with me, please. Also, I'd like to give a big thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I love you all! It pleases me greatly to see my writing is enjoyable to read. Thank you, again!

* * *

 **Child of Sithis**

* * *

She was floated through an endless black abyss. There was nothing but darkness in every which direction. Was she floating upright? On her side? Upside down? She knew not. It was oddly peaceful. Her eyes remained closed, yet she could see everything. She seen her own body. Felt her heart thudding in her own chest. She was there, but she was also over here. But where was "here"?

It was maddening, but she did not question it. It felt.. so right.

 _You sleep rather soundly for a murderer._

And a hand - an invisible hand that reached out to caress her cheek. It was gloved and smelt of old leather with a dull, barely recognizable copper scent - blood. But that hand; oh, that hand. If she could control herself in this state, she would have reached out for that hand to hold it firmly onto her cheek to keep it from floating away from her. To keep that comforting palm on her skin to continue the peaceful caresses.

But, again, she could not control herself, and the hand left soon after and she was without the bliss of what little contentment she had. But just as she thought about how lonely it was without that deep voice, another voice resonated through her body - a voice that was even more comforting than the first one. A voice that belonged to a woman. It was musical, but frightening. It was soothing, but deadly. It was _delightful_.

"My child."

* * *

Annabella woke up to find her sleeping position had changed from snuggled against a fluffy pillow and under the warm blankets to crumpled up in a heap on the hard wood of the floors, her hip bones feeling as though they were being slowly sawed off as the realization of the planks digging into her skin hit her in the face like a rabid wolf.

Maybe she drank too much again and this was a hallucination or something of the sort. Of course. That's what happened.

But those voices. In her head. It seemed so real.

Also very sad now that she thought about it. Voices in her head? Perhaps she really was mad.

Looking around to get a better understanding of her surroundings, she found she was in a small cabin that had obviously been abandoned. That or these people were immense slobs and probably murderers as indicated by the dried blood splatters on the walls and floor. Maybe she was captured by cannibals and they were currently discussing how to prepare their meal. If they succeeded, she prayed that they would choke on her bones.

But her wild imagination was brought to a halt when she seen three beings tied up with bags tossed on their heads on the far side of the cabin. Two men and a woman by the looks of it.

"Sleep well?"

Annabella jumped like she'd been impaled by an arrow and looked towards the location of the mysterious voice. A woman - most obviously a nord by the looks of her height; which was almost always a given, was perched upon a wardrobe in the corner near the door. The breton stood and became more composed after facing her opponent dead-on.

"Who are you? What do you want with me? Is this about what I did yesterday?" Without pausing to catch her breath, she spoke out once more. "Who are those people over there? Answer me!"

"Does it matter? You're still alive and breathing. Isn't that truly all that matters?" The mysterious woman chuckled. "My, you ask a lot of questions."

She paused and looked up at the ceiling. "That's more than can be said of old Grelod, hm?"

"Ah. So you're the one who gave me that note. I knew this had something to do with it. So you're a friend of the old hag tormenting the children, are you?"

She was about to conjure up her bow, but felt it was best for this stranger to think she was unarmed until she began to attack, then she'd take her bow and shoot an arrow right through that smirk she was concealing under that mask.

"Me? Friends with Grelod?" She let out a laugh that sounded too eerie to be human. "Not likely. Have you heard of the Dark Brotherhood, dear?"

"The.. Dark Brotherhood? Of course I've heard of the Dark Brotherhood. Well when they were renowned."

The masked woman's eyes darkened at the statement. "Old hag murdered in her own orphanage? Tends to get around. Especially when that hag was supposed to be a Dark Brotherhood contract."

The Breton scratched her head as she glanced over at the people in the corner; all three struggling to free themselves from their imprisonment. Annabella wasn't liking where this was going.

"A kill that you stole."

"He'd been calling for you for so long. I'm surprised nobody got to him sooner. Doesn't seem like such a good organization after all, now does it?" The blonde crossed her arms and with one look, dared the woman to pick up her blade and try to cut her down.

But it didn't happen quite that way.

The masked assassin laughed - merrily, she might add.

"It's true that our organization has been on it's rough edges lately, but it's still not something I can overlook. Stealing a contract from me and my associates is going to put you in danger. Unless you repay it."

"Repay it how?"

"I see you've already noticed them, but my guests behind you play a significant role in this. I've "collected" them from.. well it doesn't matter."

The woman jumped down from the wardrobe and stood near the door. Annabella tensed up and took a step back, trying her best to be on her guard in case she tricked her in some way.

"There is a contract out on one of them and that person can't leave this room alive. I want you to figure out which one. If you succeed." She held up a black, rusted key. "I'll give you this and you can be on your merry way." She placed the key into her palm and crossed her arms, leaning against the bloodied doorway.

"Go on, then."

"Fine. I'll play your little game if it grants me my freedom. But if it's a trick, I swear _you_ won't leave this room alive."

"Coming from someone whose head reaches my chin is a hoot."

"Shut up and let me concentrate, would ya?"

Killing people was easy. Killing the right one would be hard. How would she know? It did make her question if she was truly doing the right thing, but if someone had a contract out on one of them, then that only meant that they did something wrong and needed to be eliminated.. right?

Maybe.

Talking to them would be the best option.

She walked over to the first man - an Argonian wearing wealthier garments. The Breton glanced back at the assassin, who gave her the "mouth zip" motion. Good. She wouldn't interrupt her work.

"Um. Excuse me, sir."

"Oho, sir? I'd be honored if I didn't have a bag thrown onto my head."

"Fine. No pleasantries. Who are you?"

"Vasha, at your service. Obtainer of goods, taker of lives, and defiler of daughters. I take it you have not heard of me. Perhaps I will have my people carve my name into your corpse as a reminder."

And she didn't mean to do it.

Or she did.

But it wasn't something she had planned. It just sort of happened. Her conjured bow was out and all of a sudden he had an arrow sticking out of his face. Or out of the bag, really since his face was still quite hidden under the brown sack.

She wouldn't have worried much, but seeing the sack stain red and the Argonian fall over to the side like a pile of flour.. didn't help anything.

But he insulted her. And she assumed.

"Ah, shit."

She glanced back at the assassin, who appeared pleased by her decision.

"A conjurer, are you? Quite a useful ability, that one."

"So I chose right?"

"No. But I like you, so I'll give you another chance. Choose between the other two. Should be easy enough, right?"

"I'd thank you, but it's bad to be too cheery in a time of death, no?" The Breton huffed and walked over to the tied up woman.

"Who are you?"

"None of your damn business who I am! If you're going to kill me, just do it already. If I didn't have this sack on my head, I'd spit in your face.."

And she didn't mean to do it. But it happened. Again.

Though this time she directed it to her stomach instead of her head. The woman howled out in pain as her arrow pierced her in the gut, the blood pooling around her dingy dress.

"I'm going to ask you this one thing and you're going to answer me. Understood?"

"Excuse me? You just shot an arrow through my stomach and you have the audacity to order me around?" She howled out in pain once more before silencing, Annabella healing her large wound to something a little more bearable. She couldn't afford to have this woman die unless she was the one with the contract held above her head. She thanked the gods as an afterthought that her healing didn't backfire as it had on so many occasions.

"Now. Answer me: Would someone pay to have you killed?"

"What kind of question is that? Perhaps you can come over to my home when we're finished and we'll have some tea and **discuss it as you hold a knife up to my throat**. I'm not telling you a damn thing and I suggest you deal with it and let me go! That or kill me, instead."

What a fiery temper. She shot her once more in the stomach. She'd deal with the pain while she talked to the next man down the line. Perhaps then she'd speak. The woman howled out once more in pain and she walked over the to the last man. A Nord.

"I-I hear you talking out there. Please, let me go. I've done nothing to you!"

A whiner. Something she hated.

"Who are you?"

"J-just a sell-sword. My name is Fultheim. I've lived in Skyrim my whole life. I'm a nobody, really. Can you let me go?"

"Depends. Would someone pay to have you killed?"

"O-oh gods. I don't want to die."

Annabella bent down and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. He flinched and whimpered slightly before she spoke.

"Shhh. It's alright. Don't be afraid. Tell me and I won't hurt you."

"W-well I guess it's possibly. I've killed a lot of people in the line of work I do. Could be someone wanted revenge. Who knows?"

He relaxed under her touch. The man seemed the most obvious out of the bunch. He was the only one who seemed genuinely frightened - like he knew this was coming. He killed a lot of people, as he said. So chances are good that this man was the one with the contract on his head.

"You're not going to kill me, are you?"

Annabella smiled and her conjured bow turned into her dandy conjured dagger. "No, no. Of course not. In fact - this is all a surprise party for you!"

"A-a surprise?"

"Mmhm! This was a set-up. Is your birthday soon?"

"A-actually y-y-yes. It's in four weeks time, but that's too soon, isn't it?"

"Well your friend suggested I scare you like this. In the next room over, there is a party going on - for you! Fun, huh?"

The Nord broke into a nervous sweat and began laughing. "Ol' Barnaby sure does know how to throw a party. How many people are there and what are we having? I'm starved!"

"Over twenty people, I'm sure. Lots of food. Sweetrolls galore. Fun festivities. Stabbings." She rambled on and on, waving her spectral dagger in front of his covered face.

"That sounds great - ahaha. But... wait. Stabbings?"

"Yes!" Then she plunged the dagger straight into his throat, watching him bleed out and fall off to the side, much like their Argonian friend had in the corner.

Pleased with her work, she stood up and looked to the Nord woman in the middle of the two.

"You got lucky, miss. You're free to go."

Silence.

"Miss?"

She nudged her with her foot.

Oh, yeah.

Healing.

She didn't do that this time.

 _Shit._

Annabella whipped around and faced the assassin with a coy expression.

"That wasn't supposed to happen."

The masked woman burst out laughing, but not in a horribly loud, obnoxious way. More like a composed laugh that fit her serious personality.

"I like your style, girl. We could use people like you in our organization."

"So who was it? Who had the contract? I mean, obviously they're dead now thanks to me, but it would be nice to know who deserved it."

"That's the thing - nobody had a contract on them. I asked you to kill and you obeyed. That's all I wanted." She held out her hand and presented the key to the Breton. "Do you feel remorse?"

"Not really." It was true. She did not know these people. Did not sympathize with them. It was either her skin or theirs and she had fought for the skin she's in today. She didn't run all the way from the Imperial city just to die in an old shack for not obeying orders.

She reached out for the key and went to the door. For reasons unknown, she began to trust the masked woman and didn't put her guard up as strong. She looked back before opening the door.

"Are you looking for a new family?"

The question made the breton stop in her tracks. "A new family?"

"I say we take our relationship to the next level." She bowed her head slightly. "I would like to officially extend an invitation to join my family. The Dark Brotherhood. In the Southwest reaches of Skyrim, in the Pine Forest, you'll find the entrance to our sanctuary. It's just beneath the road - hidden from view."

 _A new family._

 _New friends._

 _People who actually want to hire her._

 _To treat her the same._

 _Family._

Would it be like that?

"When questioned by the Black Door, answer with "Silence my brother." And then your new life begins."

"I'll think about it."

She stepped out into the eerie morning light and looked back at the assassin once more.

"See you at home." With that statement she spoke, the Breton nodded her head and began her journey to the sanctuary.

* * *

"Silence my brother."

The door speaking to her was in no way creepy.

Not at all.

Nope.

It also wasn't creepy when the door spoke back to her, welcoming her to her new home.

She wasn't sure why she even decided to do this. Was joining the Dark Brotherhood really something that she should do? I mean, sure she had no remorse when she killed people, but did that justify joining a cult of sorts to make a new "family" and get work?

Maybe.

But only time would tell.

The place actually looked quite nice and well furnished. She wasn't expecting it to look quite so.. homey. It suited her taste.

"Ah. I'm glad you found the place alright." That voice - the assassin from the cabin! She appeared to be a Nord; as speculated before. A darker shade of blonde hair tumbled down her neck and rested upon her neck. She was exactly as imagined - too serious for her own good.

"Annabella."

"Pardon?"

"My name. It's Annabella. I never introduced myself ever since you drugged me and stole me from my bed." Well she couldn't be rude to her new family member, now could she?

"Oh. Quaint. I'm Astrid. It's a pleasure to be _formally_ introduced. Now that that is out of the way, how about we get down to more important matters."

"Of course."

"Make yourself at home here - go talk to your new family members. They're just in there." She motioned for the room next to her. "I'm arranging a job for you, now. Go talk to your new brother, Nazir. He should have a small contract for you to do, for now. He's the only Redguard in our family - can't miss him."

"Thank you, _Astrid_."

"Quite welcome, _Anna_." She smiled at the Breton as she walked into the next room. If they were all as friendly as Astrid, she was surely in for a treat.

Her new family was gathered in a circle, a small child laughing and talking to the group while smiling merrily.

Wait. A child in the Dark Brotherhood? Hopefully this was a joke.

"... Such a lovely smile. Your teeth... your teeth! No! Aggghh!" The little girl made biting motions with her teeth and immediately Annabella realized that she was no child at all, but a vampire. Explains that, but she didn't know how to feel about sharing a home with a blood sucker, despite her being too adorable for words.

But how kind was it to judge someone before she knew them?

"Oh, Babette. You are so wicked!"

Annabella stood on the outside, listening in and occasionally droning out. It was only when they noticed her did she perk up. Or, at least one.

"Ah! So you're the new family member. Let's make this easy - consider me the cranky old uncle named Festus that nobody talks to. You stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours." The old man started to walk away, but she put out an arm to stop him.

"Wait, wait! It's nice to meet you, Festus. I'm Annabella."

"Hmpf."

"What can you tell me about yourself? I'd like to get to know my new family."

"Well. I like to say I was born with a wand in my hand. I was a prodigy! Casting simple spells by one. Completing complex incantations by three. Resurrecting corpses by seven! Ha!"

"Oh! A magic user? I am, as well, though I admit; destruction spells aren't normally my forte."

"Destruction spells are my specialty, girl!" He smiled and seemed genuinely interested in the breton, now. "Tell you what. If you live past your first real contract, I'll teach you everything I know."

"That would be amazing! I could learn so much.." Visions of being a great spell-caster danced around in her head.

"Though I did have an accident at thirteen."

"An accident?"

"I accidentally burned down the family home. Bit of lightning went awry. But don't worry. Soon after I mastered my gifts." He cleared his throat. "Completely."

The thoughts were shattered. But at least she had something in common with this man. Perhaps they could be friends, after all. So why not share her story with him? What was he gonna do? Turn her in? She could just as easily turn him in with her for being an assassin.

So she told him of how her flame atronach went crazy and burnt down the entire Arch-Mage's room and killed three guards while trying to get the Arch-Mage's staff to pay off a debt. Then she went on to tell him about how she kept setting people on fire back at the Mage's guild back in Cyrodiil and the entire time, he cracked up.

"Girl! I like you. I hope you don't die."

"Haha.. ha.. thanks. I'll see you around."

"Course, course. Don't forget about those lessons I promised you."

Yeah. Like that was gonna happen. Annabella's curiosity sparked when she seen the vampire child again and she couldn't resist. She walked up to the girl, smiled, and introduced herself.

"Hello. I'm your new family member. My name is Annabella."

"There you are! Astrid's told me all about you. Heard she pulled the ole "Choose your victim" gag with you. I love that one.." She seemed to be in some sort of daydream. "I'm Babette."

"It's nice to meet you, Babette."

"You're going to love it here! We're just any other family. We enjoy meals together, we do fun stuff together, and we look out for each other."

She seemed too cheery, but in a good way. And her voice was very proper, despite being stuck in the body of a child. She was a breton, too. Perhaps she had lived in High Rock once. Maybe she could tell her about it some time.

"What can _you_ tell me about yourself?"

"Oh! The Dark Brotherhood killed my mama and papa and then kidnapped me! Please help me." She smirked and chuckled. "Pretty convincing, no?"

"Pulling that again, Babette?" A dunmer lady walked up to the two woman and smiled brightly. "You sure do like to brag at your skills." She turned to the Breton and nodded her head. "My newest sister. May I offer my most sincere welcome to our family."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, too. My name is Annabella." Boy, was that statement getting old, now. Why couldn't they have all stayed in one place so she would only have to introduce herself once?

"Gabriella. You certainly have a strange energy about you. Quite curious."

Babette stood from her seated position, excusing herself. "Do fill her in on the details, Gabriella. I need to finish collecting my alchemy ingredients before the sun comes up."

The vampire left and Gabriella snorted, most unladylike. "She's a vampire, as if you couldn't tell. She may be a good actress, but her bragging is getting to her head. I'm sure you took note of her eyes as soon as you seen her."

"She seems like a sweet kid, though. Or. Er. She looks like a sweet kid. I'm sure she _was_ a sweet kid." The conversation turned a bit awkward, and Annabella fidgeted a bit and cleared her throat. "Anyway, what can you tell me about yourself, newest sister?"

"What a curious question. Well, I enjoy moonlit nights, taking long walks on the beach, knitting, and unicorns." She crossed her arms. "In fact, I once took a seaside stroll, on a moonlit night, and discovered a unicorn.. which I proceeded to stab in the throat with a crochet needle. Any other questions?"

"N-no. I think I got all of that." She couldn't help herself and burst out into uncontrollable laughter. These people were indeed something else and it pleased her to no end to see people just as insane as she was.

The Dunmer also couldn't help herself and burst out into a similar laugh. "Sister, I do believe I'm going to like you. Not everyday someone would laugh at that sort of story."

"I must pick up a contract from Nazir, though. I'm sure we'll talk again later."

"Indeed. Good luck with your contract, sister."

* * *

Nazir had a different attitude from the others she had met. He seemed a bit more serious like Astrid. But she liked him nonetheless.

He gave her the contract of killing a beggar which was... so exciting. Her eye rolls were apparently too obvious and he remarked on it right away. When asked about himself, he gave an answer she wasn't expecting.

"Well I'm Redguard, as I'm sure you've taken note of. Not like most of my kind you'll find in Skyrim, that's for damned sure. I'm a child of Hammerfell, born of the sands of the mighty Alik'r. My past is not a proud one, and it's very long. But short story, the Dark Brotherhood saved me from myself, and I'm never looking back."

Instead of the goofy responses she had gotten, this man seemed truly stable and she admired him for it. Sure, he was a little rusty around the edges, but he was someone she could indeed get along with. She smiled and was going to tell him a bit about herself, but was shoved out of the way by an Argonian man and an middle-aged, bearded man with more muscles than manners.

"I told you he was a monk! Trained in the ways of the Whispering Fang." The larger man spoke with an irritated, yet humorous tone. Annabella immediately responded.

"Hello newest brothers." She smiled and held out her hand, to which the Argonian shook happily.

"Newest sister." He bowed. "Veezara. Former Shadowscale, trained by the Dark Brotherhood since the day of my hatching. Lifetime ago, really. Today I serve Astrid. And this sanctuary." He stood up straighter. "I live to protect my family. Welcome home, sister."

Such a nice attitude. She could get used to how the people reacted to her here. So far she had no problems with anyone at all and seemed genuinely liked, despite her appearance.

Oh, yes. Skyrim and what it did to her. Hair full of twigs from traveling through the pine forest looking for the sanctuary. Face smeared with Mara knows what. And she didn't even wanna look at her studded armor. She was pretty sure there was little of it even left after the incident with the thorns and the wolves.

"I'm Arnbjorn. I don't like you and I don't want to be friends. My wife trust you and I trust her judgement, but I can't afford to be friends with someone whose gonna be dead in a week." Oh. Touchy. Apparently the tall, bearded man was that one person in the group.. typical.

"So you don't wanna know me, not even a little bit?" She made a motion with her hands, as if to ask what in the world she did. Was existing enough for this guy to hate her?

"Look. Here's all you need to know. I'm a werewolf. I like killing things. I love Astrid. I hate annoying people. And the color blue gives me a headache."

"Alright, so what-"

"I said that's all you need to know. Get lost."

The look that crossed Annabella's face was a mixture of amusement and disbelief. She thought _she_ had the occasional trust issues. She had now dubbed Arnbjorn the drama mama of the group. Though she wouldn't dare say it aloud. He walked away in a huff towards the Blacksmithing station and the Argonian placed an arm around her neck.

"Don't think anything of it, sister. He's like that with all new recruits."

"A bit dramatic, if I do say so myself. But perhaps I'll warm up to him."

"Perhaps, sister. Perhaps. Anyway, I need to meet up with Gabriella. Things to discuss. I'll talk to you later. Kill well, friend."

* * *

Seemed like ages before she finally got away from everyone. Astrid had given her the uniform she had the option of wearing on the job and a room to her own, surprisingly. Said everywhere else in the main bedroom was full and she certainly wasn't going to share a room with Astrid and her grumpy werewolf husband.

The room was small and cramped and she barely had enough room to move around. Apparently this room was for a previous member who had raging incidents and needed to be confined to his own "special" room. That was a lovely thought as she sat on her bed. She started to think they isolated her on purpose.

Trying to get a better understanding of her room, she conjured a small, glowing blue light that stuck onto the wall beside her bed. Who needed candles when you could summon your light?

Nothing was decorated save for two banners on either side of the door. She'd have to do some interior designing, but that was to be for another day. Near the rather uncomfortable bed was a nightstand that held a single, unlit candle and a book titled The Five Tenets. After her journey here, she found herself to be too tired to do much of anything. It would soon be daylight again and she wanted as much sleep as possible.

Stripping herself of her studded armor - or what was left of it, she tossed the offending garments off to the side and donned on her new Dark Brotherhood outfit, admiring the way it fit her curves perfectly. It would do fine and hopefully it would hold up against the disturbing Skyrim weather.

Sitting back on the side of the bed, she picked up that book and started scanning through the pages of The Five Tenets before tossing it back on the nightstand with very little interest in it.

"You should read that, you know."

Her eyes shot up to meet the gaze of a ghostly figure. A man, donned in black robes with a sinister looking smirk stood before her. Regaining her composure, she looked him straight in the face.

"W-who are you? What are you doing in here?"

The man frowned and crossed his arms, his hood remaining on his head covering up the majority of his face.

"Apparently I'm the Dark Brotherhood's pet. I seem to be stuck in this mortal world, only to be assigned their personal undead helper."

"Sounds like a rough job."

"Mm. Indeed."

"Why are you in here? Surely I'm not someone you want to meet. I don't know you, but you already show a huge dislike towards the rest of the members."

"No, no. Not all of them. There are an exceptional few I don't mind." He paused and looked the Breton up and down. For a moment, she felt uneasy about the way he looked at her. "I'm here for _you_ , my little Breton. Been waiting for _you_. I'm bound to this sanctuary because of _you_."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" He appeared stumped. Almost more so than the woman on the bed.

"Well if I'm the one keeping you here, I am truly sorry. Sorry because that's truly maddening. I don't even know you, yet I'm keeping you here? I'm not the best liar, but you're even worse. Come up with a more believable reason before pointing fingers at me trying to find _some_ way to hate me."

"Hate you? Why would I hate you?" She could sense anger in his voice. It reminded her of low, rolling thunder.

"Look. I've had a long day. Okay? I'm not in the mood to deal with anyone at the moment, so I'd really appreciate it if you could leave me alone for some rest." She leaned forward on the bed to rub her temples.

"You're very defensive. But also _fiery_. I like that in a woman." He leaned in close to her and she seen his tongue run over his bottom lip. Ugh. Of anyone to hit on her, it would have to be the family ghost.

Without thinking, she swung her hand to smack him right in the maw, but he thought quickly and grabbed her wrist, holding it firmly. She would have fought it - would have begun kicking him and cursing, but something stopped her.

That hand.

It was the one from her dream.

Hands are hands and normally it's not distinguishable. But it had the same feel. The same _warmth_. And when she breathed in, it smelt of old leather with the barely recognizable scent of blood. Odd for a ghost to have so much.. life to it.

She was in a trance, staring at the man's face. The only part of him she could see was his mouth and chin and at the moment, his previous grimace had turned into a smirk.

"Something wrong, little Breton?"

"Who are you?"

"I already told you."

"You know what I want to know."

"I have no idea. After all, I'm not a mind reader." Was he moving closer to her? Her mind was fuzzy and she couldn't comprehend much of anything at the moment.

"My name is Lucien. That's all you need to know for now, _Annabella_."

"You were in my dreams."

"Funny. Normally I'd take that as an extreme compliment from women. But I'm sensing you don't mean it in quite that way, dear girl." He grinned at that and she again wanted to smack him - or try again. But she also wanted to reach out and touch his face.

What was wrong with her and who exactly was this man? He turned the other way before she could make a move and she called out to him.

"Wait! I have more questions."

He turned his head to face her, the eerie grin still plastered to his face. "In due time, Anna. In due time. Get some sleep and we'll talk more when you wake."

She huffed and turned her head to the side, disappointed at how the man in her dreams turned out to be a ghost. Most men in her life never paid much attention to her since she rarely kept up with a visually perfect image unless she put effort into it. So it only seemed fitting that the only man who would show any sort of _mild_ attraction to her was a dead man. At least she hoped it was an attraction and not a trick.

Lovely.

"Before I leave, might I suggest you look that book over sometime? It really is a good read. It might bring you more insight into your position.. more than what your new _family_ could give you."

"This one?" She picked up the ratty looking old book from the stand and looked at it once more. "What's so special about it?"

"Let's just say.. that your family members might have different opinions than when I was alive and well. Read it and educate yourself properly before that leader of yours gets into your head."

The ghost vanished and she was left in a darkened room with the book held loosely in her hands. After what seemed like minutes of doing nothing but staring at the title, she finally tossed it back onto the nightstand and rolled over on the bed.

She would read the book.

But she would also listen to Astrid. She felt she could trust her, but it was strange because she also felt that she should trust this ghost, as well.

Stuffing her face into a pillow, she let her thoughts halt so she could get her well-deserved rest. She'd worry about things in the morning.


	5. The Five Tenets

**Note:** Sorry it took a few months to get this out. Life happened. Whoops. Remember - reviews are love! Thank you for all the positive feedback!

* * *

 **Child of Sithis**

* * *

Her gloved hands were submerged deep within the bright red clay mixed with the henna plant and a small amount of sugar - face paint. If she was going to be an assassin, she would have to look the part and while Babette was too adorable to _look_ like an assassin, she used it to her advantage. Annabella, on the other hand, was short; only reaching height at 5'5" while her fellow Nords reached 6'1" or taller and _that_ was only the common female Nordic height. She surely didn't have a secret motive like Babette, so she had to at least try and look like a killer.

But how should she paint her face?

She knew she had to be extremely careful since Gabriella, who had created the mixture for her, had spoken of how it will stain for awhile, so she had best be cautious when applying it to her face. Gabriella had also spoken of how she had tricked Festus into putting some on once and his face looked like that of a failed canvas painting for months.

She'd have asked her new assassin family on which markings would suit her best, but she had figured it was her own time to think for herself. After all, what would they know about trying to be deadly? All they had to do was look at someone while holding a dagger for them to feel horror at them coming towards them. Gabriella was a Dunmer and just her dark eyes and velvet voice would frighten anyone who wanted to cross her. Festus, while he may be rather old and cranky, would summon some sort of magic that would _destroy_ that persons psyche. Veezara had that creepy lizard vibe going on - and no she wasn't racist - she was brutally honest. Babette was an obvious one as well as Arnbjorn, Nazir, and Astrid, simply for looking quite deadly with a blade.

Anna would look like a sweet woman coming to slice into a birthday cake. Damn her cheery personality...

But her thoughts were taking up time and she had that beggar to kill. Maybe she could coat her eyes in the red paint. That would at least look li-

"I recommend something that covers your whole face to hide that extremely pale complexion."

Stupid ghost - stupid Lucien. It was unexpected and she jumped backwards, smacking him right in the face - victory! Or a semi-victory. The paint had all spilt onto the front of her new Dark Brotherhood armor and had pretty much permanently stained the floor under the alchemy table while the paint that had been on her hands had splattered in every which direction, putting red paint spots on various furniture in the room.

So she guessed it wasn't really much of a victory.

And Lucien did not look pleased. He had a frown etched onto his face, his hood had been thrown back, revealing his long, black hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Unfortunately - or fortunately - the paint didn't reach his face, as she didn't make contact with his skin, only his hood. His black robes were splattered with the paint, making it look like a massacre.

He said nothing and neither did she. Not even when he got physically closer to her. She only spoke when his gloved hand reached out and swiped at the paint along her lower belly, traveling almost too close to her unmentionable regions.

"Watch yourself, Imperial." Her eyes followed his hand when he pulled it up, coated in the bloodied color of the paint. She tried not to flinch, tried not to show how nervous he secretly made her. But sadly she couldn't help herself and took a step back.

He looked at her with a grin that made her incredibly uneasy as he followed her steps with his hand held up. Was he going to...? No. He wouldn't. He couldn't!

"Don't get any closer!"

But he did. And she ended up with a bright red hand print smeared across her face. Her eyes remained untainted, but the very tip of her nose was the home to part of a finger, and the majority of her lips were coated in the paint. She looked horrific. But that's what she wanted, right? At the time, she found it a better reason to yell and get mad at her new "friend".

"H-how dare you! This won't come off for months. I look ridiculous!" She yelled with an extremely screechy voice.

With the commotion from the small room they were confined to, it was only a matter of time before someone came in to see what the racket was about. Sure enough, Gabriella, Babette, and Festus all came in at once - all three looking like someone had been shot.

"What's the matter dear sis-" Upon seeing the horror on the blondes face, Gabriella piped down and shut her mouth so hard, her teeth made a loud popping noise.

"Oh, dear." The undead child covered her mouth at the sight before them. The ghost, holding the handful of paint in his palm, remained smirking as he took in the sight before him. If there was one way to be reminded of the tenets, this was it - the black, or in this case: red, hand smeared across her face to be permanent for several months. It was too good for the ghost to pass up.

"Isn't that stuff permanent?" Festus didn't seem to be as shocked, though he did show a bit of concern for their new member. Either that, or he wanted to take in the humor from the situation.

"No, of course not. That would be tragic." The undead child rushed up to the Breton woman and tried to calm her down while carefully avoiding the red mess.

"How long will I have this horrid mess on my face?" She inquired as she glared at the ghost whose eyes never left her.

"I believe it's around six to seven months - but I could be wrong! Maybe it's only three or so." The undead child piped up when she seen the shocked expression on the woman's face.

"What happened anyway, sister?" Gabriella questioned as she followed her glare towards the paint coated Lucien. "Did you.. do this to your new sister on purpose?"

Lucien crossed his arms with little care for the red paint coating his sleeves. "I did her a favor. Now nobody can see her ghostly complexion."

"Ha! Smart idea coming from you, _ghost_." Snapped the Breton with the blood-red hand-print on her face.

"Now, Lucien. You shouldn't be so harsh to our newcomer. Weren't you a newcomer once?"

"Oh, please. She was taking forever to decide, so I helped her progress. She has a contract to do, doesn't she? Instead of doing so, she's painting her face up like a common whore."

"Whore?! You're the one hitting on me the first moment we met." Snapped Annabella again, this time even louder than before.

The bickering continued for a good 15 minutes with Babette making sarcastic remarks towards Lucien for being so crude to their newest family member. Festus wasted no time leaving, obviously having had his fair share of arguments with women, and Gabriella stood behind Annabella, holding her back from attacking the spectral assassin all the while commenting on how the smeared on paint doesn't look too bad. Nazir had came in just to see the fighting and quickly retraced his steps back into the other room.

"I'm going to go do my contract. Please, if he tries to follow me, stab him for me." She stated as she struggled out of Gabriella's hold.

"Stab me? I'm already dead, in case you haven't known. Little good that would do you." He snapped before vanishing into thin air. With any luck, he'd leave her alone for awhile to sort out his problems he had invented with her out of seemingly nowhere.

The Breton tuned him out as she made her way out of the alchemy room, Babette on her heels. She only stopped when the unchild spoke. "So I gather you and Lucien aren't on the best of terms. He's normally not that rude - I don't know what's gotten over him."

"Yeah, well I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, so he'd best get used to living with me."

"Well said, sister. Though I must say." She chuckled. "It did seem like a lovers quarrel."

"It's nothing of the sort! I only just met him." She furrowed her brows as she bent her knees to meet the unchild's height. "Bold thing for you to say, sister."

"I meant nothing by it, Anna - you don't mind if I call you Anna do, you? Or perhaps you prefer Bella?" She inquired as Annabella looked into the darkened eyes of her newest small sister.

"Anna is fine." She replied hastily.

"You do seem like you've met him before, though. Am I correct in this?"

"... no. I've never seen him before in my life." Annabella began to bite her lip unknowingly. The unchild gave her a knowing smile.

"You will learn to trust me, Anna. I've only just met you, but I can already tell we're going to be great friends."

"Friends, hm?"

"Yes. Friends. You're like the little sister I've never had."

"Little?"

The vampire girl chuckled. "Yes. Have you forgotten I'm over 200 years old?"

"That seems to slip my mind on occasions." Though Annabella couldn't help buy smile.

"So I've noticed."

Annabella stood and patted the Breton unchild on the head. "Then here's a deal. You don't comment on me and Lucien ever again else I'll keep referring to you as a child."

"Do you really think it bothers me that much?" She crossed her arms and grinned up at the taller Breton, her vampire teeth poking out slightly.

" _Little_ sister - I **know** it bothers you."

"Fine. We've come to an arrangement."

"I should probably get going. It'll be dark in a few hours and I'd like to get some details of my surroundings in before nightfall." She began to wipe the paint off of her armor, but to her dismay, found it to only be spreading.

"While you're out, do you mind getting me some Nightshade? I've used everything I had yesterday, but I'm far too busy to gather some anytime soon."

"So now you're using me? I'm truly hurt." She feigned as she placed the back of her hand on her forehead.

"You'll do it because you love your big sister."

"You're too cruel, Babette."

"You'll get me some. Nobody can resist my charming little smile." And with that, she smiled once more and headed back to the Alchemy room.

"Sure, Babette." She rolled her eyes and left the sanctuary and made her way towards Ivarstead.

* * *

The kill was swift and painless. Or at least she thought it was. She wasn't the one being murdered in her sleep. Once her job was complete, she decided to stop by the nearby inn in Ivarstead. But not before digging through her satchel and pulling out a very thin, dark cloak to wrap around herself. She wasn't stupid - if the guards seen her armor, they'd know who she was working for and would no doubt shoot her on sight.

The Vilemyr Inn was lively for it being near the very early morning. Or late night. However one looked at it. Many travelers from far and wide gathered inside, laughing and drinking mead while some lone individuals stood in the shadows of the inn. One of said individuals looked vaguely familiar.

"Brynjolf?" She spoke out loud in surprise. His head perked up and he quickly pulled her into the shadow of the inn.

"Shh. Keep it down, will you?" He lowered his hands for her to get the idea, looking both ways to make sure nobody caught wind of his name.

"What are you doing.." She spoke in a hush-hush tone. "Hiding like this?"

"What's it look like? I've got a job to do here. I have to lay low." Despite his previous panic he had, he seemed fairly calm now.

"I wouldn't call hiding in a corner of a busy inn laying low."

He laughed merrily at that and patted her on the shoulder. "You'll understand when you join up. Or if you do. Have you tried to access the Ratway, yet?"

"Er. Not really. I've been really busy." She bit her lip as she looked out in the lighted part of the inn.

Brynjolf smiled knowingly and reached out to bring her cloak up over the red mask that had haphazardly fallen forward around her neck.

"I-it's not what it looks like." She balled her fists up, inwardly punching herself in the gut at her stupidity. If anyone found out, she was pretty sure it was a given to kill them. But how could she kill Brynjolf? He'd been nothing but nice to her.

"Oh, don't be _ashamed_ of it, lass." He smiled brightly - or however bright you can smile when you're covered in shadows. "My organization and the, um.. brotherhood have been allied for years, now. We're all family. If you'd want to join up with my family, I'd welcome you with open arms. We've been in a bad way, lately."

He cleared his throat. "But keep that only between you and me. You're not a member, so I can't go into specifics. Just keep in mind what I said."

"That I can do. Glad to see you're not out for my head." She smiled, happy that the Brotherhood had allies.

"Oh, but isn't that what you do? I'd be more worried about my head, as I'm not allowed to kill on the job."

"So.. you're like a thief? Or a pirate?" She inquired.

"How many pirates do you know dress like this?" He waved his hands towards his armor to emphasize his point. No... no pirate had ever worn leather in that sort of fashion before. At least not in Cyrodiil.

"Point taken. So you're a thief."

"In so many words, yes."

Annabella was about to ask more when a loud booming noise was heard. It was so loud that it rattled the windows and made the floor shake.

"DOVAHKIIN!"

The Breton covered her ears just after hearing it, the loud thundering noise making her entire body numb from the volume of such a voice. Or voices, as it had sounded. Then silence. Everything got so quiet that her ears began to ring. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Then the inn starting to bustle once more.

"The Greybeards! They spoke!"

"But.. why now?"

"He has been summoned!"

The Breton looked to the thief next to her and he shrugged his shoulders as if this was an everyday occurrence.

"What was that?"

"The Greybeards apparently think they've found a dragonborn."

"A what?"

"A dragonborn."

"I know what you said. What is it? I'm not from around here."

"Obviously." He chuckled. "Not with that face paint."

Her hands darted up to her face and then she remembered the incident she had that evening. Of course. She'd forgotten about that. She was surely a sight for sore eyes.

"Dragonborns are rare. They're mortal - can be any race. Nord. Dunmer. Breton. Etc. They have the blood and soul of a dragon. They can speak the tongue of the Dov, or as most people call it, the Thu'um."

Just as she was about to give a snarky comment on their silly Nordic fairy tales, a Nordic man burst through the doors. "Weird night we're having, huh folks?" He let out a big, booming laugh before calling over a couple guards.

"You may want to check on that beggar up near the waters edge. I noticed the noise didn't even make him stir awake. I fear he may be dead."

"Ah, good riddance. His little home up there was an eyesore. What was his name again.. Narfi?" Asked the guard - clearly drunk on mead.

Tuning the rest of the conversation out, Annabella tightened the cloak around her neck.

"Looks like that's your queue to leave, eh?" Brynjolf straightened up and looked over towards a door behind the innkeeper, who apparently seemed too distracted to properly guard his valuables. Guess that was Brynjolf's queue to leave, too.

"Afraid so."

"Give your family my best."

"Will do, Brynjolf." She smiled and headed for the doors, stepping back out into the brightness of the inn.

"Keep me in mind whenever you're in Riften. You may find our organization to be quite homey if you give it the chance."

Once she left the inn, she spotted the carriage - perfect! She boarded and gave instructions, but before doing so, picked up a huge clump of nightshade for her dearest _little_ sister. With a smile, she realized that it felt like she really did have a little sister when it came to Babette, whether she liked it or not. Only a day had passed with her new family, but she already felt like it was home.

* * *

As soon as she entered the sanctuary, she heard a voice that was vaguely familiar. Where had she heard it before?

"But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice that we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely... punishment?"

"Keep talking little man, and we'll see who gets "punished." Arnbjorn, of course.

"Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog. This man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil." And then you had Festus, who apparently had a hatred for the werewolf's attitude.

Stepping into the open room, she immediately recalled the man speaking. An Imperial. Dressed in that goofy motley still. Sitting upright behind him laid that box that caused so much trouble in the first place. In front of him, all the members with their arms crossed, looking curiously at the jester. Some appeared amused while others looked downright annoyed. Out of them all, Festus seemed to be the most excited. The only one who seemed to be missing was Lucien. Good riddance on that one.

She stood with her own arms crossed as she leaned against the doorway. She didn't want to make a scene at the moment - not when there was a discussion currently underway.

"I, for one, am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived." Festus rambled on a few more enthusiastic comments and compliments, but her brain tuned them out.

"Who is the Night Mother?" She spoke her thought aloud, and didn't mean it. Her tone wasn't exactly the most cheerful either. Almost as if she were some child looking at something horrendous her mother had cooked and rudely asking what it was. But it is what it is and unfortunately her magic didn't give her time travel to rewind.

"Ah. Cicero. This here is our newest member. She joined just last night." Astrid waved her hands towards Annabella. She felt like she wanted to shrink back into the wall and blend in. She hadn't meant to rudely interrupt, but thankfully they didn't seem to mind.

It took mere seconds for Cicero to rush over and, quite embarrassingly, plant a rather wet kiss right on her cheek. When he removed his lips, it made a loud POP! noise. If her cheeks weren't red before, they definitely were now.

"I remember you! Ohohoho! You helped poor Cicero and mother out when no one else would." He began to bounce from one foot to the other as he danced in a most comical fashion.

Astrid raised her eyebrows. "You two.. know each other?"

"Not really. We've met. But only once." She shrugged her shoulders and took a step back from the jester, which earned a chuckle out of Arnbjorn. "It's a long story."

"More importantly." Shrieked Cicero, right in her ear, mind you. "Nobody has spoken of the Night Mother to dear Bella?"

"It's.. actually Annabella. Or Anna. But never Bella." She corrected, but it did no good as Cicero went into full hyper mode speaking of the Night Mother. Shrinking back some more, she only took in a few tid bits. Apparently she was the wife of Sithis - which she had heard of, thankfully - bore five children, and pretty much served as the "mother" for all assassins.

"That's all fine and all, but." She placed a hand on Cicero's chest and shoved him away. "I have things that need to be tended to. Why don't you go get settled in?"

"Oh, good idea, dearest sister! Cicero will go prepare his room."

Her face was still red when he left to scramble up his things from the ground. All eyes were on her and it sent her embarrassment sky-high. Babette, seeming to understand, stepped forward in an attempt to ease her obvious humiliation of being smooched by a lunatic in front of many eyes. "Sister! I am happy to see you return alive and well. Shall we go to the Alchemy room to start making those potions I had intended to make upon your arrival?"

"O-of course! We have work to do." Annabella put on a serious face and the many eyes turned away to glance at Astrid pulling the jester aside to remind him that she was in charge and that he would need to follow her rules.

"Nice face paint, by the way!" Joked Vazeera as both Bretons walked towards the stairs. Normally she'd have returned with a snarky comment, but instead she batted her lashes and grinned in response. What was the point in suffering with something when you could make it a joke instead?

Once her and Babette were alone and sitting around the alchemy table, she piped up. "So how do you know this Cicero?"

Annabella told her the whole story of the wagon breaking down and how they ended up becoming murderers once everything turned out rotten. Babette seemed rather impressed at their innovation.

"If it was with anyone other than Cicero, that would have been extremely romantic."

"Really? You find bloodshed romantic?"

"I'm a vampire. What do you think?"

"Oh, yes! I almost forgot." Reaching into her satchel, she pulled out the bundle of Nightshade the un-dead child requested of her, to which she beamed at and began to chop up immediately.

After a few moments of silence, Annabella spoke up. "Thanks for rescuing me from that awkward situation. I owe you one."

"It was no problem at all. I once found myself flirting with a 30 year old man before remembering that I look 11. I'd have wished someone had pulled me out of that. Instead I just got him saying how cute I was and how he had a son that was my age." She huffed and placed her crushed nightshade in a bowl. "Just get me more nightshade next time you're out and we'll call it even."

She nodded, unsure of what to say. She began to chop up some various ingredients and helped Babette with her potion. Soon Gabriella slid in between them and began to help. They were all enjoying themselves until Lucien showed up to sour her mood.

"Anna." He smirked when she looked at him, obviously still amused over his clever trick of painting her face. Gabriella immediately came to her aid.

"What could you possibly want with Anna, now? Don't you think you've done enough?" The dunmer put a hand on her shoulder while sending glares towards the spectral ghost.

"Don't think I came on my own terms. As of now, I'm simply carrying a message." He grunted. "That's all I'm good for these days, I suppose."

"Well you don't seem to try to be helpful to any of us, so it's not a far stretch." Babette said, not breaking her concentration on the vial in front of her.

Lucien ignored her remarks. "Nazir told me to congratulate you on killing a beggar. Said that, and quote, _'You slaughtered an emaciated beggar in cold blood. You are truly an opponent to be feared.'_ " Lucien stopped to chuckle." He wants to talk to you after your next contract. Astrid has said contract for you. Go talk to her." He reached out for her, but Gabriella, who was quick to act, smacked his hand away. What he was even reaching out for her for was the question that had no obvious answer.

"I admire you brother, but right now I don't think Anna wishes to talk with you." Lucien grimaced and was no more, his very being shattering into nothingness.

"At least he didn't insult me this time." Annabella smiled as she stood up, leaving the alchemy to her two very busy sisters.

* * *

"I trust you know Riften well, yes?" Astrid questioned as Annabella nodded her head in agreement. "Good. Because that's where your next contract leads you."

"What do I need to do?"

"You are to kill a Dunmer who goes by the name Romlyn Dreth. But first, speak to Niluva Hlaalu. You will find her in Haelga's Bunkhouse or the Blackbriar Meadery. She has all the information you need."

"Sounds simple enough."

"I would hope so."

She turned to walk towards her chambers, her achy feet giving her problems. Sleep sounded nice at this point. Before she got too far, however, Astrid piped up.

"Just watch yourself around Cicero. I don't trust that bumbling idiot, yet." Astrid warned as she waved her off for the night, leaving her in the darkness of the eerily silent room. Cicero seemed to be quite popular today, as well as that dead woman that he'd hauled with him.

But it was something to worry about at a later date. She made her way back to her small, cramped up room and collapsed onto the horribly uncomfortable bed. She was about to fall into a deep sleep when she remembered the conversation she had with Lucien just the night before about that damn book. Glancing at the end table, she scowled and conjured up her blue light that stuck itself onto the wall above her bed. Reaching over, she grabbed the book and opened to the first page.

She noticed that the book has various short stories of the Night Mother and Sithis and how their relationship came to be. It was an interesting read, she was sure, but what really got her attention was the five tenats that was listed on every other page - almost like they really wanted you to follow them.

But Astrid never mentioned them, had she?

 **TENET 1: Never dishonor the** **Night Mother** **. To do so is to invoke the** **Wrath of Sithis** **.**

Fair enough. If Annabella was happily married, she'd be pretty pissed if someone dishonored her own husband. Sadly, or fortunately depending on how you view the world, Annabella hadn't met that certain someone who had a spark. Someday perhaps, but it would have to be a "brother" since she wouldn't be able to explain to her own husband what she did every night when she had contracts. It would lead to confusion and misconceptions and jealousy and it would end up in a messy split. And if he discovered the truth, that split would be much messier. Death is the surest way of any split.

 **TENET 2: Never betray the** **Dark Brotherhood** **or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the** **Wrath of Sithis** **.**

She smiled as she read this one. Having to put this in here was really humorous. Betrayal often is a sure sign that you're a bad member of any organization. This one was no different. So was it really necessary that they put it in there? Or whoever wrote this... the book seemed to have no author. Sithis was added as the author, but she wanted to know who _really_ wrote it. She wouldn't admit it to her family members, but the idea of a being like Sithis existing seemed fairly comical. None of their opinions on the matter would sway her mind.

 **TENET 3: Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a** **Dark Brotherhood** **superior. To do so is to invoke the** **Wrath of Sithis** **.**

Like the previous tenet, this one was humorous. If someone has higher power over you, why would you refuse? Astrid had been nothing but good to her since she arrived. Why would she dare refuse an order from her? Or any other member, for that matter. Annabella was the lowest man on the totem pole since her arrival. It would do her well to listen to advice and orders.

 **TENET 4: Never steal the possessions of a** **Dark Brother** **or** **Dark Sister** **. To do so is to invoke the** **Wrath of Sithis** **.**

The Wrath of Sithis part was getting old. She was pretty sure the "Wrath of Sithis" part of it was simply getting murdered and joining "Sithis" in the "Void." Annabella grinned and chuckled to herself. Were this really the book Lucien had asked her to read to inform her? What were his words exactly..?

 _"Read it and educate yourself properly before that leader of yours gets into your head."_

Get into her head? Astrid was only proving to be a wise and accomplished leader of this sanctuary. She seemed to care for all the members equally - maybe except Cicero, who appeared to get on her nerves ever so slightly - but Astrid followed these tenets, she was sure of it. What was that goofy ghost going on about? Annabella shook her head and tossed the book back down on the nightstand and crossed her legs beneath her as she got comfortable on the mattress. She'd read the book another time. It was ridiculous.

Her eyes did, however, kept wandering over to the nightstand, her arm hair standing up on end. She felt goosebumps on her skin and shivered for just a moment. It was strange, but she didn't even feel cold and there was no draft in the room. If anything this room was a bit too stuffy for her liking. She shut her eyes and hummed to herself, anger boiling inside of her as she thought about Lucien and his disrespect to Astrid. What was his beef anyway? She wasn't even sure why he was here. It honestly seemed like the final tenet should be to ignore "family" ghosts and go on with your life. Maybe there was a spell in one of her books on how to exorcise a ghost. Or was he considered family? She rubbed her temples and groaned.

Sadly she didn't have much more time spent dwelling on her newfound hatred of her family member. Her temporary light spell timed out and the ball of blue light exploded in a bunch of tiny specs before darkening completely. She turned to lay on her side, eyes adjusting to the blackness of the bedroom. She'd have been drifting off to sleep if it wasn't for the loud noise of an object falling from a distance that startled her from her pre-dream state. Assuming the obvious that she'd probably kicked her conjuration book off the bed, she ignored it.

The voice in her head was proving pretty hard to ignore, though.

 _"My child. My dear child. Come to me, my child."_ Again, that voice. It sounded as delightful as it sounded last time. Right before she met Astrid, she had heard the same voice. And she wanted more of it. More of that comfort.

That made her entire outlook on the situation change and she bolted upright in bed and immediately wasted no time in conjuring another blue ball of light and looked around the room once the light had proven useful. There was nothing out of the ordinary. But that noise..

Glancing down at the floor to see if anything was amiss, she let out a small hum noise at the irony. Laying on the floor near the side of her bed was the book she had read and made fun of. It was open and laying to where she had a perfect view of what page it had remained open on. The page of the five tenets. Gulping nervously, she picked the book up to set back on the nightstand, but before closing it, decided to take a peek inside. What was that last tenet that was so important that life, itself, seemed to force her to read?

Looking down at the page, in big, bold letters, read the following passage.

 **TENET 5: Never kill a** **Dark Brother** **or** **Dark Sister** **. To do so is to invoke the** **Wrath of Sithis** **.**

Why would anyone do that? Surely no one in the sanctuary would be so heartless as to murder their own family member unless it was completely unavoidable, of course. Though she had to ponder on the thought that someone might want a member dead.. how would one go about doing that if they were not allowed to murder thy family?

Either way, the book was still ridiculous. They all seemed too good to murder anyone in the family. Even Arnjborn, which Annabella hated to admit. He was rough around the edges, but the way he looked at Astrid.. he was a harmless puppy.

It didn't help her wondering why Lucien wanted her to read this book so bad or why she had been hearing voices in her head since arriving here. She knew she was mentally unstable for the most part - that was a given due to her outbursts of anger and then being absolutely happy and care-free in the same time span - but voices in her head? Now _that_ was a scary thought.

In her curiosity, she turned the page. Were there anymore "rules" that she needed to follow? She froze when she seen the black hand smeared across the page. The four digits represented the Speakers while the thumb represented the Listener. The terms were meaningless to her. What were they? Nobody in this sanctuary had really done well in explaining how things worked. Only that Astrid was the leader, you must follow her every order, and you must keep the sanctuary a secret.

Her hand went to touch her face, the blood-red face paint still quite prominent. "That sneaky bastard.." He had branded her this way on purpose! But again, why was this book so important to him? Why did any of this really matter? Sighing, she slammed the book shut and chucked it across the room to land on the near broken dresser she was given upon her arrival.

She would sleep. Tomorrow was another day. She would do her contract and then maybe she would ask Astrid about that hand. What were speakers? What was a listener? More importantly, what was so important about these tenets? She stuffed her head under her pillow and let sleep take over from there, completely unaware of the figure in the doorway.

The Ghost of Lucien Lachance stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest, the corner of his lip tugging upward into a crooked smile.


	6. Frightfully Wicked

**Note:** I'm trying so hard to keep this at a T rating. It may change soon enough. I'm already pushing it. A warning for this chapter: It's quite sensual and morbid. You've been warned. Please let me know what you think! Reviews are love, my friends.

* * *

 **Child of Sithis**

* * *

 _Blood stained the once innocent green grass a dark shade of red. The Imperial man screamed as the dull blade pierced his gut a second time, his Imperial and Redguard friends lay dead on the ground._

 _One more stab and he died a slow death, his blood blocking the air from reaching his lungs. Annabella looked down at the blood-stained dagger, her hands shaking before finally dropping it onto the ground, her form falling forward until she was sitting on her knees. She should have been feeling remorse for killing them. She should have shown remorse for even thinking about it in the first place._

 _Some would question how she could live with herself, but she often asked herself how could she live with herself if she had let his murderers go free. Her brother was a good man and like no other. He was destined to do great things and they stole his very life for a few trinkets and gold._

 _Holding back her sobs would have been useless had she had any tears to release. Her tears had dried up hours ago as anger replaced all sadness. She should have been home mourning and not pursuing her brother's murderers. She should not have felt happiness in killing these people. If anything, it made her just as worse._

 _But she could not get his image out of her head. It never left. Her brother, barely recognizable with his blood-red face, laying like a discarded washcloth in the middle of the road alongside his carriage driver. Horse gone, possessions stolen. Even the boots off her brother's feet. He'd been left in the road for days, his skin a pale, unnatural color while his eyes remained forever closed, never to open again. She had cursed the guards that day. Cursed anyone that could have possibly helped him. Cursed herself._

 _She would never forget. She would never forgive._

* * *

Annabella bolted up in bed, her breathing ragged and her heart pounding.

 _Just a dream._

 **KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!**

"You've been asleep for a long time, sister." The voice of Gabriella paused. "I need to speak with you about an urgent matter. Come talk to me when you get up."

The breton rubbed at her eyes and groaned. She heard the soft footsteps of the dunmer as she walked away. She let her feet hang off the edge of the bed, her body retaliating every single second of trying to build up the energy to actually move. She'd have gladly stayed like that for an eternity if life would have allowed it, but the sudden opening of her door made her realize that all those lazy thoughts flew right out the non-existent window in the sanctuary.

"Sister!" Cicero bounded in her bedroom and jumped gleefully next to her on the bed before she casually twisted to her side and kicked him onto the floor. He continued to giggle and proceeded to jump right back up into a standing position before Annabella had enough.

"That's it! Out," She stood up from her seated position so fast that she got lightheaded, but it didn't hinder her. "Get out, get out, get out!"

"Oh, but dearest sister," Cicero bounded backwards like it was a joke. "I bring you good news!"

She paused in her yelling and stared at him like he had grown three heads. Really, though, she would have considered that a tad more normal than Cicero's being in general. "News?"

"Yes! Since this is your first _real_ contract, Astrid has agreed to let someone go with you," He cleared his throat and gave a dramatic bow. "Humble Cicero accepts that offer."

"But wouldn't it have to be someone experienced?" Annabella grimaced at the thought of going anywhere with the lil' guy, but there have been worse situations; that she knew.

"I'll have you know, I'm very experienced!"

Annabella chuckled. "When did you last have a _real_ contract? Looks to me like all you do is cart around that corpse."

Immediately Annabella regretted that comment, for Cicero's laughter died and his expression darkened. "And what, dear sister, do _you_ know about the Night Mother?"

"Well, I-I-" She was rendered speechless by the overly serious expression on the imperials face. Then, like it hadn't happened at all, his entire personality did a flip and he was smiling again.

"Oh, I got Anna flushed," The breton was about to comment on it, but Cicero leaped forward and placed his hand over her mouth, his fingers lining up perfectly with the red hand print smeared across the lower half of her face. "Shhh. No need for words. Cicero **knows** Anna is new and would **never** disrepect her mother."

Her features flattened and her expression became one of boredom; irritation, perhaps. She reached up and grabbed his wrist, removing his hand from her maw. "The next time you touch me, kiss my cheek, barge into my room; I will, and I stress this, _kill_ you."

Cicero didn't seem phased and instead lurched forward to give her a swift, playful hug. The breton punched him square in the jaw.

* * *

"Why is Cicero bleeding?" Questioned Festus. Annabella, along with rest of the family, were seated at the long dining table in the main hall. Most were preparing themselves for a journey to another city or town for a contract while others were simply there to stuff their face and go back to bed, seeing as how their contract was closer, therefore they simply waited until nightfall.

Cicero sat as far away from Annabella as possible, a now red and white handkerchief held up to his face as his lip continued to bleed. Thus far, the only one in the room that appeared to show any concern for the jester was Festus.

Arnbjorn chuckled. "Who cares." Cicero remained silent on the matter; even his usual cheery self seemed to have disappeared completely as he did nothing but glare at the breton from across the table.

"Annabella punched him," Gabriella placed her mug back on the table before shrugging her shoulders at the breton and continuing. "Hard not to hear him waling about after he left your room in such disarray."

Astrid only smiled at that comment and reached over to touch Annabella's arm. "I take it you're prepared for the day?"

"I am but," She turned to look at Cicero. "I heard from an obvious source that I could take someone with me." Her gaze returned to Astrid.

"Yes. A guide to assist you just this once," Astrid gestured to Gabriella. "Gabriella has offered her assistance, should you choose her."

"Only if you'll take me, of course," The dunmer smiled from across the table. "It's the reason I wanted to be the first to speak to you. Looks like someone got there a bit ahead of me, though."

Cicero turned his glare from the breton to the dunmer before pulling his chair out and walking behind her. In mere moments, he shook his handkerchief out as if he were prepared to fold it back up and stick it in his pocket, but instead placed it directly in front of Gabriella. On her plate.

Gabriella looked back at the jester and smiled coyly. "Charming." Cicero tip toed - literally - into the next room, mumbling something about oiling mother.

"I'm.. not sure what to do about him." Astrid rubbed her temples.

Arnbjorn grunted. "I say we chop him up and feed him to Babette's spider."

Babette cleared her throat to get his attention. "Excuse me, but she has a name."

"It's a bug." Nazir popped up.

Veezara shook his head. "Actually, it's an arachnid."

"Bug, arachnid; whatever," Arnbjorn stood from his seat. "It's all the same if it can die under my boot."

"I dunno," The un-child shrugged. "She's a big bug to squish."

"Arachnid."

"Would you all just please shut up?" Astrid was still rubbing her temples. "Aren't you supposed to be preparing for tonight anyway?"

Within moments, the entire table caught on fire. Babette immediately recoiled, her chair knocking over in the process while everyone else followed. It was absolute chaos. Arnbjorn simply shook his head and went out into the main room as if this was a normal, every day occurrence. Festus shook his hands in the air as if he, himself, was the one on fire. It took very few hints to guess that he was the one that created this remarkable mess.

Veezara pulled Gabriella back just in time before a rogue flame hit in straight in the face. The only one who seemed absolutely un-phased at that moment in time was Astrid, who looked more like a disappointed mother trying to have a meal with her bickering family. Annabella would have tried her hand at a freezing spell, but knowing her luck, she'd have created just as big of a mess as Festus. Thankfully, someone else appeared at the perfect opportunity. Or unthankfully.

The ghost of Lucien came seemingly out of nowhere with a bucket of water. The water proved only to make the flames bigger, to which Gabriella commented sarcastically on. "Wonderful. Just burn the whole place down."

Lucien snarled. "At least I'm helping and not cowering in fear."

"Should I attempt a frost spell?" All eyes turned towards the breton, who immediately felt uncomfortable upon being the object of their attention. "I-I know a few. I don't know if I can truly make this any worse than it already is."

Astrid stepped back as more fireballs came swirling out of the old man's hand and right towards her. "Agh! Try anything," She huffed at the mage and pulled out her dagger as if she was about to cut through a fireball. What that would have achieved, Annabella had no idea. "Dammit, Festus. I told you to not practice that in the main hall!"

Festus appeared to be quite taken aback. "Oh, like you could do any better with magic," He tried to blow on his hands to put the fire out, but of course that proved the be futile. "I can't control it!"

Annabella's hands began to sweat as she approached the table. Despite the frost tingling at her fingertips, she couldn't stop the beads from forming. She closed her eyes - something you're most certainly _not_ supposed to do while casting - and let the frost fly from the ends of her fingers. The sound of the roaring flames stopped and she let out the breath she'd been previously holding in. She only opened her eyes when she heard Nazir burst out in his toneless laughter.

"Now that's one way to make it stop." Annabella opened her eyes to look at Nazir. He pointed towards the wizard.

Annabella should have felt awful, but the smile tugging at the corners of her lips wouldn't stop getting wider. "Oh, well. Now you know why I don't use destuction magic." Festus, as well as the entire table, was one big icicle. Even his position was too hilarious to not laugh at; hands in the air, mouth wide open, and eyes shut tightly.

Astrid placed a hand on the icy table before glancing at the breton. "If this sanctuary could use you and Festus as a secret weapon, we could honestly rule the world."

* * *

By the time Annabella and Gabriella left, Festus was still frozen in place. They'd have waited it out to make sure he was okay, but Annabella ensured everyone that she had experiences with these sorts of things and that he would thaw out before nightfall. With that, everyone left the poor wizard in the dining hall; cold, alone, and quite frozen.

Lucien had vanished once more, which for reasons unknown to the breton, bothered her to no end. He did that a lot, she noted. Gabriella must have noticed her frustration, for she commented. "You look bothered, sister." She put a hand on her forehead. "Are you ill? Or is this about the Festus incident?"

Annabella shook her head. "No, of course not," Gabriella removed her hands. "I mean; he's fine. I'm not worried about him, that is."

"Noted, sister," However, it didn't stop her from questioning further. "Is this about Cicero?"

The breton gave a harsh, cold laugh. "Of all things I have in my mind, the goofy little jester is not one of them."

Gabriella smirked. "I see."

"What?" Annabella crossed her arms as they walked. She started wishing for a horse.

"Lucien. That's what this is all about." Gabriella hummed to herself and closed her eyes as if she were walking in a meadow on her way to give grandmother flowers; not to kill someone.

"N-no. Definitely not."

The dunmer's eyes opened slightly as she looked down at the breton. "Don't be ashamed to admit it. He is rather handsome," She smirked. "Don't you agree?"

Dark Brotherhood assassins should not be able to blush. It should be against the code. But here she was; blushing. "I suppose he's handsome - for being a, you know.. dead guy."

Gabriella laughed fondly at the remark. "Oh, come now Anna." She remarked. "Black hair, chocolate brown eyes, beautifully tanned imperial skin - it's all quite a lovely mix."

Annabella grimaced. "I thought you hated him."

"Hatred is a strong word," She paused and placed a finger to her lip. "I'd say a mutual dislike."

"Isn't that the same thing?" She questioned as she dug around in her pack to pull out two juicy apples she swiped from the kitchen earlier. They never did get a proper meal, after all since Cicero decided to throw his bloody hankie at the dunmer and Annabella froze the entire table; plates and all.

"Nonesense. If anything, I look up to him even if he is quite mysterious about his past," She grabbed an apple from the blonde. "I just hate how he's been treating you."

Annabella bit into the apple. "He's just jealous of my charming good looks." She grinned. Gabriella smiled.

"If that is what you say, sister."

After passing Whiterun, they seemed to be quite exhausted; their achy feet and knees about to give out. They could have rented the carriage to Riften, but that would be counter-productive if they were doing this for the gold to begin with. Thankfully they found a noble and a couple guards walking by. The noble was riding atop a beautiful bay horse. Apparently Gabriella had the same thing in mind as the two women looked at each other with sinister smiles. It was quite simple for their plan to work. Annabella, using her advanced knowledge of conjuration - or at least advanced to her, she conjured a single flame atronach and sent her straight towards the guards, purposefully missing them. The atronach succeeded in eventually leading the two guards away from the noble, to which was their plan all along.

Gabriella wasted no time in pulling out her bow and shooting the noble directly through his eye socket. He fell off the horse with a thump and Annabella dashed forward to calm the horse down. Once they succeeded, her and the dunmer climbed atop the bay horse and took off. The guards would surely be in for a shock when they returned.

"Marvelous work, sister!" Gabriella announced after they were out of the guards sight.

"Your aim with that bow was excellent," The breton remarked. "I'm almost envious."

* * *

The ride to Riften went by rather quickly much to their delight. Upon entering the old city, Annabella noted that it remained the exact same as before. Dim lit paths, creaky old bridges, and people with sly looks. Riften again reminded her of Anvil. Annabella went to immediately search for her target, but Gabriella stopped her.

"It's been a long trip," She looked to the inn. "How about we stop in for a drink before we find our _target_."

As if on cue, Annabella's stomach began to growl. "Maybe some food while we're at it."

The Bee and the Barb was bustling with activity. It seemed like ages before the Argonian man approached them asking what they wanted. Gabriella ordered a Black-Briar mead while Annabella ordered a Honningbrew Mead and a small dish of potatoes.

Gabriella asked a question, but what question it was? Annabella didn't know, for she was focused on the man walking up behind her. "Hey there, lass. How ya' been?"

She blinked several times before registering that he spoke to her. "Brynjolf." She smiled faintly. "Nice to see you again."

"Tell me, Annabella," He smirked. "Delivering flowers to the orphanage again?"

Annabella chuckled. "Nah. I'm delivering pumpkins, today." Brynjolf laughed merrily as they both spoke of an inside joke that they apparently just created. Gabriella turned behind her to look the man up and down before smiling mischievously.

"Anna," She began. "Are you not going to introduce me to your _fine_ friend here?"

"Brynjolf, this is Gabriella," She gestured with her hands. "Gabriella, this is Brynjolf."

"It's a _pleasure_ to meet you, Brynjolf." The dunmer turned to face him directly as soon as he sat down near her.

"The pleasure is all mine, Gabby."

 _Great. Now I'm a third wheel._

It was obvious that it was lust at first sight. The two couldn't stop flirting with each other. Annabella ended up eating her potatoes in complete silence while the two eyed each other. She'd consider it romantic if she were any normal female, but it made her want to gag on her food more than anything. Eventually after her meal was finished and paid for, she stood up and made for the door.

"Where are you going, Anna?" Questioned the dunmer.

The breton scratched the back of her head. "Out for some fresh air. Might try to scout ahead and check with our targe- errr. Our _friend_."

"Do you need me to come with you, sister?"

"Nah, I'll be fine," She flexed her non-existent muscles. "I'm a big girl."

Brynjolf smirked. "Lass, I could squish you with my boot. Sure you don't need her help?"

Annabella laughed sardonically and opened the door. "Like I said; I'll be fine."

* * *

Riften was completely black by that time of night. Near midnight, the majority of the guards were stationed around Mistveil Keep. She was quite sure her target, Romlyn Dreth, wasn't of noble rank in the city, so it pleased her that she'd get off so easy. But where was he, exactly? She cursed herself silently for not traveling to Riften sooner so that she may ask questions.

Though it seemed her luck turned around when a lonesome guard walked by, appearing to be headed to Mistveil Keep. She picked up her pace and tapped the guard on the shoulder, something that alerted him a lot more than it should. "By Mara, don't sneak up on me like that."

Annabella stepped back, realizing she could have just as easily said something instead of tapping him like she had. "Pardon me, sir. I was curious if you knew where a Romly-OUCH!"

The guard tilted his head. "Ma'am?" Something had hit Annabella on the side of her cheek rather hard. She assumed it was a bug, but it felt more like being flicked. Her brother used to flick her all the time when they were young and he were alive, so she knew the feeling well. But there was nobody around. It put her on edge.

"Sorry," She cleared her throat and rubbed her cheek. "I asked if you knew where Rom-" She stopped mid-sentence when the feeling happened again, but on her opposite cheek.

"Ma'am, I don't have time for this," He muttered. "I need to get back to the keep. I'm not even supposed to _be_ here." He turned on his heel and walked away, taking his torch with him and leaving the breton in the dark. She rubbed her cheek some more.

"Bad move, girl." Annabella widened her eyes as Lucien appeared before her, his black robes blending into their surroundings. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to properly _sneak_?"

Annabella huffed. "Why did you follow me here?" She sassed, but before she could throw out insults or questions, he placed both hands on her shoulders and led her into a very darkened spot in the city. Annabella thought he had just wanted some privacy from the occasional wandering civilians, but when he pushed her small frame against the cold bricks, she realized that perhaps crossing him wasn't a very smart thing to do.

"The Dark Brotherhood has been around for much longer than you. Much longer than I. Much longer than any bloodsucker that roams this planet," He sneered into her ear, his body inching closer by the second. "To have someone blow their cover so easily; so _stupidly_ would be an insult to every assassin out there."

Annabella didn't fear the wrath of Astrid, or Arnbjorn, or even Sithis himself. But this ghost - no - this _man_ in front of her made her heart race with fear. This man was not to be trifled with; that she knew. So she said the one words that would either come across as entirely pathetic, entirely too devoted, or entirely too _sensual_. "Then teach me."

Lucien smirked into her ear and chuckled delightfully. "Teach you how to do what?"

Annabella was vaguely aware that his entire body was pressed against hers. Her heart continued to race, but after a moment or two, she had to ask herself if fear was the reason her heart was beating so quickly. The breton placed a hand on the mans chest to push him away, but found herself carelessly kneading at the fabric with her fingertips.

Annabella's eyes became clouded over as she whispered. "Let me go."

To which Lucien responded in an equally silent voice, "I'm not even holding you hostage."

To the bretons surprise, she found that he wasn't even touching her anymore. Her shoulders were not held in place by his hands and her body was no longer pushed against the wall. In fact, the only reason their bodies were pressed so close was because her body had willingly lurched forward. _She_ was the one touching him. As if someone had smacked her in the face, she shook her head slightly and stepped back.

"Just leave me alone." She shoved past him, her shoulder bumping him rudely on the arm. She didn't look back until she was well past the Bee and the Barb. Unfortunately, Lucien was a ghost and followed her on his own terms. He appeared at the top of the steps leading down into the lower parts of the city.

He smirked. And she hated it. "You're not far from your target."

She huffed. "How do _you_ know where my target is?"

"Unlike you," He purred. "I did my research. You'd learn to do the same in this line of work. It could, quite literally, save your life."

The breton groaned and moved towards the imperial. "Then where is he?"

The man rubbed his chin and glanced up at the night sky. "I'm not so sure I should tell you."

Annabella had enough. She shoved past the ghost. "I'll take it he's down here since you're standing at the top of the stairs. I'd thank you, but I figured out the obvious." She glared at him. "On my own."

"With my help." And with that, his body disappeared once more. Annabella let out a rather loud growl and trudged down into the damp area. It didn't take her long to find his home since it was literally to her right at the bottom of the steps. Lucien wasn't completely useless after all. Taking out a lockpick, she cleverly picked the lock... after breaking about twenty picks. Nobody had to know that.

She poked her head inside the house, her face beaming when she spotted the dunmer asleep in his bed. She gently closed the door behind her and tip toed past his table. Almost there! She quickly conjured up her bow and aimed just perfectly and then-

"I hope you can aim better than you can lockpick." She jumped and let the spectral arrow go flying out of fright. She glared back at the imperial and heard a blood-curdling scream as the arrow got its target squarely in the head. Annabella would have let out a sigh of relief, but that stupid ghost could have gotten her killed or, even worse, arrested.

"How **dare** you follow me in here. How **dare** you talk to me," She shoved him back with both arms, causing him to step back. "How **dare** you call yourself an assassin."

In one swift movement, she found her body on the bed next to the dearly departed Romlyn Dreth with Lucien's body atop her own. "And you, little breton. You **dare** to insult _me_?" He leaned forward and ran a finger down her neck past her pulse points. "I'll have to teach you a lesson."

The breton frowned. "What lesson could you possibly teach me?"

"Not to insult me." Annabella would have laughed at his silly antics, but before she could utter a single chuckle, both of his hands were wrapped around her neck. She couldn't breathe and for a moment, she thought he was going to kill her. To leave her to die alongside her victim; her prey. It would be fitting, wouldn't it? Coming all this way to die at the hands of a ghost.

Just as soon as felt herself begin to black out, his hands were gone. She blinked several times and her breath became ragged. "W-what did you-" Then his lips were on her own. Her eyes widened upon the realization of what was taking place and her mind told her it was wrong. Get him off! But her body, _oh her body_. It was telling her to welcome him. To welcome him and to give. Unfortunately her body ultimately had more power here. Her hand moved to tangle itself in his long, pulled back hair as her lips moved against his own. She felt his warm tongue pry at her lips, begging for an entrance. She denied him, but she would soon learn that he was to not be denied. His hand reached up to place his thumb and forefinger on either side of her lips, parting them himself. She allowed her tongue to mingle with his own, astonished by how dominant he was.

But it did not last. She felt warmth pooling around her back which brought her out of her reverie. She glanced to her left to come face to face with the dead, distorted face of the dunmer. She gasped and pulled away from the assassin then scrambled to her feet. She looked from the dunmer to the imperial, a wild look in her eyes.

"Anna.." Lucien spoke softly as if the events of him attempting to hurt her hadn't happened. She shook her head and backed up against the door before opening it and leaving promptly. She ran straight into Gabriella.

The dunmer responded to her with an 'oof'. "Anna. What's wrong?" She wrapped an arm around her. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

 _Little did she know._

"I-I'm fine. Just.. can we get out of here?" She shivered slightly, despite the night air being quite warm.

Gabriella nodded slightly. "Of course. Did you do the.. the deed?"

"Y-yes."

The dark elf began to lead her back up the stairs. "Is that why you're so shaken up?"

The breton shook her head. "I just don't feel well, is all." She cleared her throat. "I want to go home."

She nodded. "And we will." The dunmer looked behind her at the spectral form of Lucien and her eyes narrowed as if everything had just dawned on her. Lucien had a look of remorse etched on his face, but Gabriella's narrowed expression remained permanent on her dark features.

Annabella perked up as if someone had shaken her out of her shocked state. That voice again. That wonderfully delightful voice. It spoke three words. Three chilling, eerie words that once more made Annabella want to hear more.

 _Come home, child._


End file.
